


La Dolce Vita

by Felgia_Starr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bisexual Draco Malfoy, Confused Draco Malfoy, Confused Hermione Granger, Eventual Smut, Everyone Has Issues, Explicit Language, Family Issues, Friends to Lovers, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Multi, POV Draco Malfoy, Prompt Fic, a bunch of rich kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25748917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felgia_Starr/pseuds/Felgia_Starr
Summary: Realizing he doesn’t know who he really is, Draco decides to rebel shortly after graduation. He leaves the Manor, the servants, the guards, his parents, and his life of luxury behind and sets out to live his life on his own terms. He settles in an interesting town, filled with even more interesting people, called Diagon. Wanting to completely renounce his wealthy lifestyle, he finds it hard to do so when he constantly runs into Hermione Granger—the daughter of two healthcare millionaires who went to the same elite secondary school as him and is now symbolizing everything he’s trying to get rid of.What happens when he realizes there is more to Hermione Granger than the prissy rich girl he perceived her to be?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Male Character(s), Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott
Comments: 7
Kudos: 47





	1. First Taste of Freedom

* * *

This was it.  
  
This was the moment he’d been waiting for.  
  
Everything had been building up to this one moment; all he had to do was grab the opportunity and run.  
  
Draco couldn’t help the giddy grin that ultimately took over his whole face and the apprehensive tingling that spread across his entire body. In a different setting where he was surrounded by other people, he would force himself to remain calm and composed—he’d tell himself that the smile on his face was too big to be considered appropriate, that it was scandalous to think that he was this excited for a thing he hadn’t even done yet—but tonight wasn’t like any ordinary occasion. Tonight, he was planning to make a single life-changing and earth-shattering decision, and he was simply much too ecstatic for it.  
  
Pulling out clothes from his closet, Draco made sure that he dressed his best. He wore his most expensive suit, his newest pair of shoes, and the rarest of all his diamond cufflinks. Admittedly, he could see that it was all too over the top, but what could he say except he wanted to go out with a bang?  
  
He initially wished to comb through his hair and make it look like he wasn’t sleeping just a few seconds before, but he decided to leave it all ruffled and unkempt, knowing that his parents would most certainly dislike the idea of ‘messy.’  
  
Letting out a chuckle at his antics, he made a move to gather the suitcases he’d prepared a few months prior this very night. He had only packed two suitcases, stuffing them with the most unfavourable articles of clothing he owned and money he’d been gradually taking from his personal bank account ever since his birthday last year. He didn’t want to make any further transactions once he escaped from the Manor, so he’d withdrawn the same amount of money since his last birthday each passing month. The money he had wasn’t much—just enough to sustain him for two years or so on the road.  
  
When he was on his way to leave his bedroom for the last time in his life, he caught his reflection in the mirror and was so shocked at what he saw that he had to stop and stare.  
  
He couldn’t believe he was actually doing this.  
  
He was going to leave everything he’d ever known.  
  
He was going to fade into the night and run away from his parents in what he hoped to be a symbol of rebellion.  
  
Swallowing the lump of emotion gathered in his throat, Draco ignored the voice in his head that tried to tell him how he was doing the wrong thing. The good son that his parents had raised, the loyal and obedient boy he constructed himself to be because of his parents’ demands, was telling him that he should remain within the confines of the identity his parents had forced on him. It was the safe decision—the only one he’d ever known.  
  
Should he remain safe and comfortable in the role that had been given to him? Should he stay and miss out on being the real person he was destined to be? Should he keep doing his parents’ bidding and never know what his genuine likes, dislikes, favourite things, beliefs, and passions without his parents’ influence were?  
  
“Fuck no,” he muttered to himself in the mirror, a determined glint passing over his eyes.  
  
Draco grinned again, feeling rebellious and mischievous and all the things he shouldn’t be. He couldn’t believe he just uttered an inappropriate word and no one scolded him for it! And no one would ever scold him again!  
  
He hurried out of his bedroom, rushing to get to the main doors as soon as possible. Since his parents weren’t planning to come home anytime soon, he wanted his exit to be as grand as possible. Never had he been so thankful for a party until now. He’d just graduated earlier in the day, and he was supposed to be escorted by his parents to a celebration party for the other elite graduates, but he’d opted not to go, and his oblivious parents hadn’t even batted an eye.  
  
He passed the portraits of his rigid ancestors on the way, and he swore that he could feel their judgmental sneers on his back as he ran—even if they had no possible way of moving because they were all, well, dead.  
  
Laughing at the thought, he couldn’t resist the urge to throw out an obscene hand gesture at their stupid portraits. Just a few hours ago, he never would have gathered the courage to even look at them in the wrong way, but he supposed impending independence could change even the ordinary man.  
  
The servants didn’t even bother to question why he was running for the door and carrying two suspicious-looking suitcases—which admittedly hurt Draco. His mother’s maids and his father’s servants had been the ones Draco saw more often than his parents ever since he was born! They’d changed his nappies, prepared his meals, tutored him, and even Mr Dobson—their butler—had advised Draco on proper etiquette whenever he’d go on dates with the girls his parents had demanded him to be with.  
  
Whatever. So the workers didn’t care about him. They were going to be reprimanded by his parents anyway once Draco finally left this hellhole.  
  
When he made his way to the main gates, all he had to do was give the guards a quick nod, and that was it.  
  
He was finally a free man.  
  


* * *

  
Out of all the towns Draco had visited, Diagon might just be the most charming. It wasn’t as crowded as London or any of the main cities, but it wasn’t a place so rural that he’d have a hard time adapting. There were quite a lot of people living in Diagon, judging by the number of passers-by he had seen so far from the window of the twenty-four-hour café he’d been frequenting since he’d arrived. A lot of different people, indeed, varying from the everyday businessman screaming on his mobile phone, to the eccentric caricatures who often parade the pavements at night. Truth be told, Draco found himself more intrigued by the latter.  
  
He, too, wished to wear the same tight and colourful clothing the women around here wore past midnight; he would also like to dye his hair all sorts of outrageous colours as a form of self-expression. In all honesty, he wanted to try all the things that would upset his parents. Actually, scratch that—what he really wanted was to be a semi-interesting person with an actual personality. He’d been following orders and moving around like a robot for so long that it didn’t seem like he had an ounce of self-perception.  
  
Perhaps Diagon was the perfect place to explore opportunities—perhaps this was where he’d discover himself, but even as he thought of this, something was holding him back from fully moving into this town. He felt like he needed another variable to convince himself. He felt like something was missing…  
  
Huh.  
  
Wondering what that missing thing in his life could be, he brought the cup filled with tea up to his lips, eyes absently wandering about the café as he drank the—  
  
Was that Hermione Granger from Hogwarts sitting just three tables away from his?  
  
Narrowing his eyes, setting the cup back on the table, and leaning slightly forward, Draco tried to figure out exactly what was new and different about Granger—apart from the fact that she was currently sitting comfortably in a mediocre town when she was supposed to be in London, intermingling with other elites and living her best millionaire life, of course.  
  
Hermione Granger herself wasn’t a billionaire at age 20, but her parents, the pharmaceutical corporate giants they were, had certainly passed the one million mark many times over. The brand ‘Granger & Granger Co.’ could be seen in markets, pharmacies, and hospitals all over the world, and it had established itself as a household name a long time ago.  
  
Her hair! Granger transformed her hair from the long, frizzy mess it was in Hogwarts into this current short and manageable haircut that barely grazed the nape of her neck—the kind of style that would upset rich traditionalist families which included his parents.  
  
Now that he had realized what was different about her, Draco felt like it was the perfect time to look away. Strangely enough, he couldn’t. Not when Granger felt his gaze on her and stared back at him, her brows furrowing and her lips slightly curling down.  
  
Should he approach her?  
  
He hadn’t been close to her in Hogwarts. Whilst he was quite certain that she'd been aware of his existence, they just hadn’t had the same peer groups. Draco had associated himself with the other children of politicians with allegedly clean reputations, and Granger had been a part of… well, nothing. Most certainly, she’d been the president of several academic clubs, but now that he was actually thinking about it, she hadn’t been the kind of student that socialized or went to elite parties or anything like that.  
  
He knew she’d been one of the top students in her year, but that was about it. Since she was one year ahead of him and not an offspring of an important government official, his father had never demanded that he make friends with her.  
  
Would it be strange for him to approach her and start a polite conversation?  
  
Admittedly, he had to resist rolling his eyes at his own silent question. He was thinking too much as the good politician’s son his parents had raised. If he were to critique himself, he would say that he was far too dependent on his parents’ teachings. Then again, he couldn’t begin to blame himself because it was very difficult to reformat one’s brain and start again with new ideas, beliefs, and all the unfamiliar things a person should know about themselves.  
  
He ultimately decided not to approach Granger. It was probably a bad idea anyway since he was attempting to move on and forget his upper-class identity, and she was the prime example of that past life.  
  
He took a deep breath before finding the courage to admit defeat and drop his gaze from their prolonged staring contest. He chose to frown at his tea instead, noticing that it had gone cold already. Sighing, he stood up from his chair, and with one last hesitant look in Granger’s direction, he made to leave.  
  
It was early in the afternoon, so he felt it was the best time to explore the town again.  
  


* * *

  
Getting shit-faced was a good way to make friends, Draco deduced—the kind of friends that encouraged you to make terrible decisions in the heat of the moment, the kind of friends that seemed to be a little too keen on ruining your life, and the kind of people his parents would most definitely classify as ‘unambitious peasants’.  
  
But who gave a fuck about his stupid parents when at least twenty alcoholic shots were sitting in front of him, smiling and luring him?  
  
Ignoring his newly-found friends’ incomprehensible protests about the shots being for the drinking game, Draco went ahead and swallowed most of the shot glasses anyway, his throat burning most wondrously afterwards.  
  
He smiled, eyes half-way closed, when he felt the alcohol settling in his stomach. The nightclub was spinning around him, bright and pretty lights flashing intensely, and he observed that it made an acceptable yet cheap alternative for roundabouts. His head was pounding, in sync with the bass of the music that was being played by the booming speakers. The back of his throat tasted bitter and tangy and _hot._ It was so fucking hot in the pub. Sweat was everywhere on his skin, and it was beginning to feel disgusting. He felt like taking off his shirt. He wanted to take off his shirt.  
  
Draco took off his shirt.  
  
Before he could even sigh in relief, an arm gripped his shoulder, catching him in surprise, and pulled him towards the crowd.  
  
For a few seconds, he just stood there and stared confusedly at the people surrounding him. They were grinding against each other, jumping up-and-down non-stop, and smiling. And laughing. They were happy.  
  
Draco wanted to be happy as well, so he imitated their actions, tried to dance the way they did, and soon enough, his hands were on a girl’s hips as one of his new friends poured cheap beer down his throat.  
  
He let out a primitive shout after the last drops of the beer hit his tongue and the bottle was torn away from his mouth. He felt like he could do fucking anything—dance provocatively with some random girl, chug a beer with no hesitation, and utter swear words without a care in the world—and somewhere deep inside him, he knew that doing this much would ultimately make him pass out in a disgraceful heap later, but he ignored those kinds of thoughts. It was both exhilarating and exhausting to be this fucking drunk, and he absolutely loved the feeling.  
  
The fast-changing bright lights made his head pulse even more, too many people’s hands were on his bare skin, but who the fuck cared?  
  
He was living the sweet fucking life, and nothing and no one—not his parents, not his maids, not his fake snobby friends, and certainly not himself—was going stop him.  
  
Except for his bladder, apparently.  
  
Realizing that his bladder was indeed full, Draco slowed down his movements before coming to a complete stop and let go of the girl still grinding her rear against his front. As soon as he’d convinced himself he was not that dizzy, he rushed to go to the water closet.  
  
He eventually got there by occasionally pressing his hands to the wall to regain his footing. There was a long line for the women’s WC and none for the men’s, but when he was close enough to the door to fumble with the doorknob, he found it locked.  
  
He groaned at the thought of waiting, causing an excruciating wave of pain to wash over his head—forcing him to shut his eyes and stumble around for something stable to hold on to. When his hand landed on the wall again, he sighed and silently cursed himself.  
  
“You’re embarrassing yourself,” a snooty feminine voice reached his ears—and the sound was intriguing enough for him to open his eyes and look for its source.  
  
When he looked to his left, the general direction of where the voice had come from, an image of a young woman—wearing an expensive fairy tale themed dress from a Spring Fashion Collection last year his mother had forced him to go to—filled his vision, arms crossed over her chest, nose turned up, and brown eyes judging him in that snobby way of hers.  
  
Who was it? Well, it was none other than Hermione fucking Granger, the epitome of the one thing he was trying to break free from—toxic upper-class bullshit.  
  
The sight of her was enough to slightly sober him up, her mere presence forcing his instinctual mannerisms to resurface. Subconsciously, Draco fixed his posture, straightening his back and aligning his feet properly, conjured a well-bred smile, and readied courteous words on his tongue—before he stopped himself.  
  
What the fuck was he doing?  
  
Remembering himself, he slouched again, an impolite scowl replacing his fake smile. “Sod off, Granger. Just because you don’t know how to have fun doesn’t mean you can ruin mine.”  
  
At his words, her eyes widened and her lips opened. For one quick moment, she looked outraged, like she was about to take out a bloody gun and shoot him or something before she schooled her expression to betray nothing, to look as controlled and apathetic as ever. She turned her head away from him and waited for the line to ease without ever bothering him again—as if nothing happened.  
  
It was quite eerie to watch, to have someone in front of him express intense emotion and have it taken away from him before he could even blink.  
  
Draco rapidly shook his head and rubbed his face with his right hand, causing the pain to return.  
  
“Shit,” he muttered before reaching out a hand to twist the doorknob to the loo once again. When it remained locked, he banged a fist on the door, kicking it as well to add some flavour to the frustration. He walked away completely, swearing to himself that he would piss on one of the decorative plants he’d seen along the entrance of the nightclub.  
  
Earlier, he’d worried about drinking too much and poisoning himself with consuming too much alcohol, but after he’d encountered Granger, Draco thought that he _clearly_ wasn’t drunk enough.

* * *

  
Biting his lower lip to contain the pitiful whimpers that threatened to escape his lips, the thought of actually dying crossed Draco’s mind as the needle continued to pierce his sensitive porcelain skin, black ink slowly being injected into his forearm.  
  
It hurt a lot, but his friends didn’t seem to think so. His eyes drifted towards his other two friends getting tattoos, envious of their serene expressions and relaxed postures. How the fuck did they stand this? Judging by the other faded tattoos on their bodies, they had to have endured this torture at least five times in their lives.  
  
Maybe it was because it was Draco’s first time.  
  
“Fuck,” he mutters, his abused arm slightly flinching when he felt the needle penetrate his skin deeper than before.  
  
He heard a laugh coming from his right, from Anna, one of his new friends. “Stop being a sissy, Draco.”  
  
To be honest, he completely took offence at her words, and he almost let out a rant about how his skin had been preserved and cared for ever since he was a baby and this was the first time he’d ever experienced physical pain because his parents sheltered him and wanted him to be spotless from head-to-toe—but he stopped himself, being reminded again of how he was absolutely nothing without his parents’ influence, and just laughed her words off.  
  
Later, when the tattoo of a snake wrapped around a skull was forever embedded on his left forearm, his friends found it the perfect time to tell him that the design he’d chosen resembled the symbol of an infamous gang in town.  
  
At this, Draco did a double-take.  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  


* * *

  
“I want something like that,” he said to his mostly-female friends who’d agreed to accompany him in the cheapest shopping mall he’d ever seen—for God’s sake, people were walking around in flip-flops everywhere!—pointing to a section that consisted of women’s clothing.  
  
During late hours in questionably legal nightclubs, he’d seen countless men his age wearing the same things—bright-coloured tank tops, tight leggings, and even tulle skirts sometimes—and he was intrigued. Back when he was under his family’s wing, Draco had been endlessly taught that a gentleman of his calibre must always dress his best. He must always neatly present himself to the public, with no imperfections in sight. Any imperfection or misstep could be taken as a sign of his apathy and lack of decency.  
  
So, in response, the servants had always made sure he’d dressed in the most expensive articles of clothing. Even to this day, his wardrobe mostly consisted of tailored trousers and freshly pressed shirts, the colours of which varying from white to black.  
  
Wearing colourful and outrageous women’s clothing—the kind of women’s clothing that his mother wouldn’t be caught dead in—would undoubtedly piss off Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy the most, and that was enough motivation for him to buy and wear them. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason he specifically wanted those kinds of clothing. He also wanted to fit in with the crowd more, all the while trying new things as he did so. It was a win-win situation—he got to experience things he’d never even considered before, he would feel a lot closer to his new friends, and his parents would be appalled.  
  
At the end of the day, there were six shopping bags in his hands, all full of women’s clothing and even party makeup bought from the cheapest brands, another thing he wanted to try.  
  
After shopping, the girls invited him to a cheap beauty salon where they got their hair dyed flashy colours—Draco got his done green to mock the Malfoy family crest.

* * *

  
His sexuality was one of the things Draco hadn’t been allowed to question under his parents’ dictatorship. He hadn’t really given it much thought either, knowing heterosexuality was the only ‘path’ his parents would approve of for him. He thought he was fairly straight. After all, he’d dated the influential girls his father said he needed to be seen with without a second thought, but he’d also broken up with them as soon as they didn’t bring anything valuable to the Malfoy name anymore, never really thinking about them again.  
  
Draco never felt anything remotely close to romantic for those girls. Being with them always felt like a duty or responsibility. Except for, maybe, when he’d get a chance to sleep with some of them—he’d slept with some of them when it was appropriate, when the girls had wanted sex too, and his experiences were unforgettable in the best meaning of the word. There was no question about the fact that he was sexually attracted to the opposite sex. He enjoyed sex with women.  
  
But he’d never known what it felt like to even touch another man intimately, and now that he’d finally broken himself free from the leash his parents had kept on him, Draco found himself curious, wondering if he could be sexually attracted to the same sex as well. He wasn’t quite sure—there had been notable encounters in his life where Draco was turned on by his mates’ admittedly fit naked figures in the locker rooms, but that was normal, right? Even for a man who was supposed to be straight?  
  
The best time to test it out, in Draco’s humble opinion, would be in another party, preferably both parties—himself and another man—drunk enough to snog without repercussions, but not drunk enough that it would be considered as a crime.  
  
When he locked eyes with his friend, whose name was Adam, he saw curiosity and intrigue in his gaze as well. Draco found the shade of Adam’s eyes to be the deepest of blues and the bluest of oceans—so deep and so blue that he thought maybe he could dive in and drown in them.  
  
He put his hands on each side of Adam’s face and pulled him for a kiss. Time slowed, the world stopped, and his mouth was all Draco could focus on. Their tongues touched, and the way his heart drummed against his chest felt like minuscule explosions.  
  
When Draco pulled away, he couldn’t help the smile that broke out of his face. He was quite drunk, but so was Adam. It felt good to be drunk and to snog, he concluded, and between kissing men and women, Draco thought there wasn’t any difference at all. Truth be told, all he found out was how much he thoroughly enjoyed locking lips with another person, regardless of their sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finished writing this back in early May, and I've been wanting to put this out for so long, but I went through a slew of betas and alphas just to get here lol. This has to be my longest fic yet. I'm so stoked to finally be able to share this with the world! Here's chapter 1! What do you guys think so far? Btw, I am Dramione trash, and this will end in Dramione trash lmao.
> 
> Also, I wanna say thank you to highlyintelligentblonde for providing beta and alpha work on this silly story! She's amazing, and without her, I don't think I would've posted this! Thank you, girl!!


	2. Oh My God, They Were Flatmates

* * *

_A few months later..._

Draco muttered a curse word under his breath when his hand slipped whilst drawing a blue line on his lid. He’d been trying to match it with his already done left eye, but now, the wriggly lines were too obvious to fix without him having to do it again.  
  
Taking a wet tissue, he wiped away the hard work he’d done on his eyes, determined to start over, but when he glanced at the clock, he saw that he was already thirteen minutes late for the out-of-town party he and his friends had been planning for weeks.  
  
Never mind then.  
  
“Shit,” he mumbled absently, grabbing the outfit he’d thankfully readied last night on his bed and stripping down to his underwear. He turned to face the mirror again as he got dressed, analysing his physical appearance.  
  
Slipping a crop top over his head, Draco positioned the shirt in a way that all four of his arm tattoos could be seen by anyone who chose to stand in front of him.  
  
The four tattoos, to him, symbolized different things; his first tattoo, the snake wrapping around a skull, was meant to inspire fear—which was kind of funny because even though he was not a part of the gang the snake tattoo was associated with, some members actually thought he was one of them and nodded at him as a sign of respect whenever they’d see the ink on his arm.   
  
The daffodils inked on his left shoulder represented his past, designed after his mother’s name. He had convinced himself that the flowers did not mean he missed his parents, not one bit, even if every time he caught a glimpse of the petals, a certain pang in his chest made itself known.  
  
On his right bicep, there was his tattoo of a dragon, his namesake, its face reaching his chest. And finally, another tattoo of a skull, this time surrounded by money, jewellery, and other material objects, marked his right forearm—meant to symbolize his continual struggle to let go of the wealthy life he’d chosen to run away from.  
  
He didn’t know if it was healthy to get so many tattoos in short intervals but to be frank, he didn’t really care. All he cared about was how the tattoos strikingly contrast against his more feminine style, making for a beautiful androgynous picture, he thought.  
  
Draco smirked when he grabbed hold of the grey skirt that reached his knees and managed to make it fit on his hips. He was definitely thinner than before, apparently thin enough to squeeze into women’s skirts, but that was just another part of his allure. Of course, he wore black tights underneath the skirt as his feet slipped into the only black boots he owned.  
  
He frowned at his reflection, realizing he looked far too vulnerable for his taste. It was like someone could look at him and get a hint of his deepest, darkest secrets, and he didn't like that at all. The very idea of someone getting too close to him and prying open his brain to find all that he’d ever been ashamed of terrified him.  
  
Shrugging, he went in front of his wardrobe, reaching for his black biker jacket and pulling it on.  
  
On second thought, he didn't want his tattoos exposed. The tattoos had too many memories attached to them, too much history and meaning, and he didn't want some random stranger focusing on them.  
  
Before he left the room, he brushed his pink, for now, hair back with his hands, achieving that bedhead people loved from him. He didn't bother bringing a purse or anything to keep his money in, knowing he’d get sloshed and leave it at the party, so he settled for shoving his wallet into a pocket of his jacket.  
  
He walked out of his shitty bedroom into the rest of his shitty flat. Truthfully, he didn't mind the quality, or the lack thereof, of the flat—if a certain decision meant his parents would be even more disappointed in him, he went for it immediately, not really thinking about the long-term consequences. Of course, when he got a job, he vowed to move into a better place, but for now, he’d settle for anything.  
  
“Please remove my skirt from your person, Malfoy,” his flatmate droned in her usual monotone.  
  
Draco glanced at her, examining her physical features from her luxurious silk nightdress to the purring cat on her lap up to the way she styled her short curly hair. It wasn’t very often they ran into each other at home.  
  
Had he already mentioned that he was living with Hermione Granger? No? Well, he was, and he hadn’t even chosen to live with her. In short, she lived in the same flat building he’d wanted live in, and she'd been the only one who was willing to live with a well-known politician’s son who infamously rebelled.  
  
“Fuck off, Granger,” he growled, walking past her on the sofa, heading towards the door.  
  
“Just make sure it won’t have spilt beer when you return it to me this time,” was the last thing he heard from her before he shut the door closed, and he waited when he was out on the corridor, away from her judging gaze, before he rolled his eyes at her words.  
  
Stupid Granger. He didn't even know why she was in Diagon. She was the sole heir to a multi-billion pound company—why the hell was she living in a seedy flat? Shouldn’t she be sitting in a mansion somewhere far away?  
  
She was also the worst flatmate he had ever had! Albeit, she was the only one he’d shared a flat with in his entire life, but even if he’d had others, he was sure Granger would still be the worst of the lot. She rarely even talked to him, for God’s sake—and when she did, it was usually to reprimand him or to tell him how he looked stupid or something about incomplete chores! He couldn’t even have a proper conversation with her!  
  
But, he had to admit, with all of Granger’s flaws and drawbacks, she sure did own some pretty clothes.  
  


* * *

  
“Why didn’t you tell me that it’s your birthday today?” Draco asked, thoroughly offended. And offended he was! He’d only found out that today was, indeed, his flatmate’s birthday through her social media profile.  
  
Granger looked up from her book, raising an elegant brow. “I don’t see how that has anything to do with you.”  
  
He huffed, crossing his arms above his chest. “You know my birthday.”  
  
“I really don’t.”  
  
“June 5th,” he stated with a frown, realizing something. “If it’s your birthday today, why aren’t you celebrating with your friends and family or something?”  
  
She placed the book on her lap, shoulders tensing. “I don’t have friends.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
An uncomfortable silence followed his monosyllabic response, and he had to look away from her to conceal the awkwardness he felt after her admission. Now that she had mentioned it, Draco had to admit that he’d never seen her with other people either. After a day at her university, Granger just always immediately returned home, sometimes making a detour for quick errands, but he was quite certain she'd done those errands without anyone by her side.  
  
Then again, he might not be the best observer when it came to Granger’s habits because he wasn’t home most of the time.  
  
But was Granger a hermit? Was he the first person she was talked to after years of solitude?  
  
Draco didn't know; he didn't really know anything about her at this point, except for the basic information that could easily be found on her Wikipedia page. To be fair, he didn't think she knew anything about him either.  
  
For the past couple of months, they’d just been living together—they weren’t even friends, for fuck’s sake!  
  
Eventually, he was the one to break the silence with a follow-up question. “How about your family?”  
  
Granger tensed up even more. “I’m better off without them.”  
  
Another _oh_ moment, but this time he didn't say it aloud. This time, he just turned his gaze to the floor, wiggling his toes in utter discomfort.  
  
That was when he came up with an idea—the craziest idea he’d ever had in his entire life.  
  
“Do you want to celebrate it with me?” The words were out of his mouth before he could even contemplate them, and after he’d said it, his voice echoed back to him with the slightest tinge of regret.  
  
But when he saw Granger’s eyes widen in unadulterated shock for the quickest of moments before she put her mask back on again, the regret washed off instantly. He’d never say it out loud, but he enjoyed seeing her express human emotion, if only because it was such a rare moment.  
  
“Are you serious?”  
  
Feeling a grin break out of his face, he nodded eagerly, knowing deep down she wouldn’t say yes to his offer anyway. “Yeah! We can go to this new pub right around the corner, and I’ll even pay for our food.”  
  
A few moments passed without a word from her, and Draco was about to walk back to his room when Granger’s voice stopped him in his tracks.  
  
“Okay.” The word reached him in a soft tone, close to a whisper but less intimate.  
  
Shit.  
  
He might actually have to take Granger out for dinner.

* * *

  
He ended up taking Granger out for dinner that night. To him, it was a strange feeling to have her by his side as they walked into the newly-opened pub together. He felt like he was out-of-place in his own skin, and he wasn’t quite sure why. Perhaps it was just really weird to hang out with Granger.  
  
God, even thinking about it was weird.  
  
When they reached an empty table, Draco automatically pulled out her chair for her, not realizing what he was doing until he noticed Granger’s confused expression. He removed his hands from the chair instantly, his face heating up, and mumbled an embarrassed apology before he sat on his chair.  
  
Maybe everything about this was strange because being with the daughter of the most recognizable couple in the pharmaceutical industry made him jump back to his old habits, his old instincts. For fuck’s sake, he’d even worn a semi-formal outfit tonight, uncomfortable with wearing his normal clothes while going out with her. For some reason, he didn't want to tarnish her reputation—or even his—when they were together in public like this. He felt like he had to act gentlemanly, sit up straight, and be the good politician’s son he’d been raised to be.  
  
It was really all just a bizarre experience.  
  
“Thank you?” Granger said in a questioning tone, slowly taking a seat.  
  
He folded his hands together on the table. “Yeah, I’m kind of trying to get away from that, from my upbringing.”  
  
She blinked, nodding even as her confused expression lingers. “Okay.”  
  
He was glad when she didn't ask any more questions and quickly diverted the topic by calling a waiter and asking for the restaurant menu. When the menu was set on their table, he gestured for Granger to take it.  
  
“Do you not want to eat?”  
  
“I do, but it’s your birthday, and I want you to pick for us,” he explained, casually shrugging, feeling tense as ever.  
  
Granger nodded and silently looked over the menu. “Would you want to drink any alcohol tonight?”  
  
His mouth opened, ready for a suave and polite quip about bourbon being the only proper drink for men like him, but he shook his head, refusing to give in to the etiquette he’d been raised with. “Sure. You can just pick for me.”  
  
Resting his face on one hand on the table, he let her browse the menu again, looking around the pub for a distraction that would get him away from this painfully awkward circumstance with Granger. To his surprise, he found his friends casually chatting a few tables away from them.  
  
Too polite for his own good, he waited until Granger finalizes their order though before he tried to approaches them.  
  
“I saw a few friends.” Draco pointed to where his friends were located. “Is it okay if I just head over there real quick and catch up?”  
  
Granger sighed, taking her mobile phone from her purse. “Go for it.”  
  
And on he went. He realized it was probably a dick move for him to ditch her on her birthday, but he promised himself that he’d be back sooner than later to dine with her. He knew Granger could sit and wait on her own for a few minutes—she had apparently been doing that her entire life!  
  
So he got caught up in an inane yet humorous conversation with his friends. Even though he’d just been with them earlier that day, it seemed like Draco couldn’t have enough of talking with his friends. They talked about silly shite that wouldn’t matter to them in the long run. They told each other dirty and childish jokes. They even let him down a shot or four, turning him slightly tipsy. He even allowed himself to sit with them for a bit, not knowing how and lacking the motivation to end their conversation.  
  
That was until he glanced at the table where Granger was supposed to be seated and didn't find her there.  
  
It took three seconds before the realization kicked in. ‘ _Granger’s gone.’_  
  
Then, he panicked.  
  
He simply couldn’t lose Granger! She was one of the most important people on the planet—how could he lose her? If his father found out about what he’d just done, he was in for the worst lecture of his life! Oh, he could just imagine his mother’s disappointed scowls and purse of the lips! No doubt the police would be—  
  
Wait. What the fuck was he thinking about? His parents weren’t there to scold him anymore. He could just look for Granger around the pub—in fact, she probably just went to the loo or something—and everything would be alright once he found her.  
  
_If_ he found her.  
  
Brushing off the empty reassurances from his friends, Draco rose to his feet and began his stroll around the pub, searching for a hint of Granger’s existence.  
  
After a few anxiety-filled minutes, he finally found the common sense to wait outside the ladies’ room. His right foot tapped against the floor as the door remained closed after what felt like an eternity.  
  
Fuck it.  
  
When he had enough of waiting, his hand grabbed the doorknob, twisting it to open the door.  
  
The first thing he saw was Granger’s relieved face, his own relief washing all over him—but that relief was short-lived, slowly draining from his body when he finally noticed the old man hovering over Granger’s flinching figure, his hand stroking her arm and not even realizing the door had opened.  
  
Hot red righteous fury took over him, and he grabbed the old man by his stupid peasant shirt, pulling him away from Granger. The old man groaned when his back hit the hard marble of the sink, and he took his distraction as an opportunity to drive his fist into the man’s wrinkly face.  
  
A cruel yet satisfied smirk curved upon his lips when he heard the crunching of the old man’s nose. He hoped his face was broken beyond repair. He leaned towards the man, eager to tell him who he would be facing in court shortly after his dinner with Granger, but the bloody woman tugged at his arm to stop him.  
  
That was when he remembered she'd probably endured the creep longer than necessary, his focus shifting to her instantly. “Are you alright?”  
  
When he looked into Granger’s eyes, he expected to see fear and disgust swimming in the brown pools of her gaze, but to his shock, her face was as expressionless as ever!  
  
“I’m fine,” she articulated in that empty tone of hers, having the audacity to look and sound bored at the same time.  
  
What the bloody hell was wrong with this woman?  
  
“What do you mean ‘fine’? You were just—”  
  
She shook her head, her grip on his arm tightening. “Let’s just go, Draco.”  
  
His shoulders slumped in defeat when she uttered his first name, sighing but nodding to avoid arguing with her. He let her slip away from his arm and leave the loo before he did, making sure to watch her every step.  
  
Then, he turned back to the disgusting old man with a glare, no words coming out of his mouth but a thousand warnings being sent through his gaze.  
  
The urge to spit on the man’s pitiful face itched through him, but he resisted it, knowing fully-well he had more class than that.  
  
After that, he rushed to follow Granger, a long apology waiting on his tongue. He’d just successfully ruined her birthday, after all—and they hadn’t even had dinner yet!  
  


* * *

  
“We can’t just not talk about what happened,” Draco frustratingly grumbled, following Granger into their shared flat after she’d unlocked the door. He had been trying to breach the subject ever since they got out of the cursed ladies’ restroom, but she'd been ignoring all of his attempts.  
  
“Yes, we can,” Granger insisted, moving through the flat as though they weren’t currently holding a conversation.  
  
It was maddeningly infuriating to communicate with her at times.  
  
“It’s not healthy to keep all of this bottled up, you know.”  
  
When she finally faced him, he was instantly met with a flat expression of hers. “I don’t think the man who drinks and smokes all day has the right to claim anything regarding other people’s health.”  
  
He groaned, pulling at his hair. “You know what I mean.”  
  
“I don’t understand why you’re so wound up about this,” she drawled, crossing her arms above her chest. “It’s not like you have anything to do with the situa—”  
  
“Nothing to do with—Granger, it was my fault you had to endure that!”  
  
Her brows furrowed, but her eyes remained blank. It was like arguing with an aloof therapist or something. “I’m quite certain I went to the loo of my own volition.”  
  
“God, Granger, you’re so—”  
  
“Look, Draco,” she interrupted with a lazy sigh, “listen to me when I say it’s not a big deal, and don’t try to act like the chivalrous hero you’re not—it’s not your fault, and if I were to be honest, I feel like I’m obligated to state my appreciation when you came in and put a stop to… whatever was about to happen.”  
  
“I shouldn’t have left you alone in the first place,” he admitted, looking down in shame. He felt like the very idiot his governess had told him he was when he was younger. Draco had left her to fend for herself for what? To have a couple of drinks with the friends he saw every day?—what sort of man did that? And to top it all off, he’d done all that on her birthday. “I’m sorry.”  
  
There was no one talking behind his apology, no upper-class upbringing influence, no edgy rebellious intent—no one had said those words but him, and he knew that because the guilt and the shame that continued to linger in his chest felt too real to come from anybody else. The words were sincere and no one else’s property but his.  
  
The apology felt like the first words he had ever uttered as his own man, and that fact terrified him to the core.  
  
When Granger spoke again, she did so with a softer tone than her usual emotionless voice. She spoke as if she had the intention to reassure and to comfort him. The implication of the now-vulnerable atmosphere made his heart jump into panic mode. “I told you it’s alright.”  
  
He swallowed, licking his lower lip in out-of-place apprehension, afraid to shatter the soft moment, but from all of his fear came a deep feeling of uncertainty. That uncertainty forced him to tense up, grit his teeth, and build up all his walls again. He didn't know why this sincere moment was even happening, and he wanted it to stop—if only because he had no idea what to do with all of it.  
  
So he went back where he was comfortable, a place filled with aggravation for Granger’s apathetic nature.  
  
“You’re always like this,” he forced out of his mouth, frustration making his blood run hot again. He looked up and met Granger’s gaze with an exasperated glare. Later, he would realize that was also the exact moment when she'd gone back to a comfortable place of her own. “You’re always dismissing everything I say, everything that happens around you—it gets bloody tiring once in a while, you know? It shouldn’t be abnormal for you to feel something, especially after what just occurred earlier! I hope you know that talking to you is like trying to serenade a sodding wall because—”  
  
“Malfoy, it really isn’t a big deal.” She rolled her eyes, gaze settling on the couch where the sleeping form of her abominable cat, Crookshanks, lay. “It’s not like it’s the first time it ever happened to me anyway, so I don’t—”  
  
Horror filled him to the brim. “What?”  
  
She turned her gaze back on him, her bored eyes judging him. “It’s not the first time some nobody tried to get up close and personal to attack me like that.”  
  
“ _What?_ ” he repeated, utterly shocked at her words as pure terror froze his veins.  
  
Granger shrugged, casually adjusting her dress. It was like they were talking about the bloody weather or something! “There are a lot of people in the world who are angry at us, at the upper class, and the social hierarchy in general. Sometimes when I go out, those people recognize me and confront me, and at worst, I walk away with a bruise—nothing too crazy.”  
  
“What the fuck, Granger?” he exclaimed, stomping towards her. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this?”  
  
“Malfoy, this isn’t—”  
  
“And why haven’t I experienced stuff like that?”  
  
“Why would they approach you when you’re always surrounded by your friends?” she asked, glancing away from him.  
  
At first, Draco didn't understand the meaning of her words, but when he began to see the heavy undertone of her question, he felt even more like a dipshit—an angry, frustrated dipshit. “Don’t go out anymore.”  
  
She huffed at his commanding tone. “Sod off, Malfoy.”  
  
“I’m serious. If somebody does that to you again—” he stopped himself when Granger just rolled her eyes and started to walk away from him.  
  
He silently seethed at her form until she disappeared into her bedroom, scowling in outrage when she had the audacity to slam the door behind her.  
  
‘ _Ill-mannered frigid bitch._ ’  
  
What the fuck had he been thinking anyway? Trying to protect her from stupid lowlifes—it wasn’t like he cared about the infuriating woman. Nope. He definitely didn't. That one strange moment earlier had just been a simultaneous lapse in judgment. Nothing more, nothing less.  
  
And when he went to fetch the pepper spray he’d bought out of curiosity from his room and discreetly slipped it in Granger’s day-to-day school satchel that was sitting on the couch right next to her demonic cat, Draco was still convinced that he didn’t give a shit about her at all.  
  
Even though he woke up early the next morning just to ask where she was headed, even though he asked for her number the same morning for ‘emergency reasons’, and even though he called her many times that day just to ensure her state of living—there was no way in hell he cared about Hermione Granger. He was doing all of that just to annoy her, definitely not to check on her and reassure himself that she was safe.  
  
The mere thought of caring about Granger was laughable at best, and it simply wasn’t possible for him to do so.  
  


* * *

  
Draco was sure that he was slowly going out of his mind; maybe that was a side effect of the now-empty vodka bottle on the floor or the scattered fag-ends on the coffee table or the fact that he’d been staying home for the past two days—whatever it was out of the three, it was turning him insanely bored out of his rotting brain.  
  
It didn’t help that his head was pounding, his surroundings were spinning, and his vision was so blurry that Crookshanks was looking more like one of Granger’s decorative fuzzy pillows than an ugly cat.  
  
There was absolutely nothing for him to do except feel nauseous and be tempted to vomit on the beige couch his body was spread across. Usually, on mundane days like this one, Draco would be too exhausted or too caught up in a nightmarish hangover to even notice his boredom, but it had been two excruciatingly-long days since he’d gone out of his god-forsaken flat, and he was getting tired of staring at the telly and drinking all day.  
  
Why did his stupid friends have to attend their stupid jobs? It was one of the foreign concepts Draco had to deal with after he rebelled against his parents. Ordinary people had to work eight hours a day just to live. It was difficult to accept that some people had to work for money when back in the Manor, he had very simple yet restrictive tasks that he needed to do. He was supposed to maintain his good image, support his father, and do charity work when the cameras were rolling and the media was tuning in. And after all that, he’s set for life.  
  
He’d basically been used as another way to get his father more popular with the masses, and it worked. Until a certain change in his life, Draco had been loved by the media. Sure, that all changed when he’d begun getting shitfaced all the time, but back when he was a good politician’s son, everybody had viewed him as a progressive teenager who was ‘wise beyond his years’. They all had chimed in about how bright his future had looked and how success was right beneath his palms.  
  
Well, he’d done and fucked that up, hadn’t he? Nowadays, the media viewed him as a failure, as the bad apple from the family tree, as a personified example of complete and utter disappointment.  
  
The fact that he had such a good life going on and an even better future ahead of him were enough for guilt to surface in his chest as a few painful beats of the heart. Most people would never live a luxurious life in the span of their lives, and he’d just thrown his all away to figure out his identity.  
  
But was it really a selfish act to find oneself? To free himself from the constraints of his parents’ wishes? To go out and live his life for the first time? To grant himself the freedom to make his own decisions, to make his own mistakes, and to determine his own fate?  
  
Draco groaned, rubbing his eyes when the thought made his headache worse. Clearly mulling over his life choices wasn’t a good idea when he was full of vodka and empty of enjoyment.  
  
Just when he was about to go full-on crazy and beg Crookshanks to be a good, obedient cat and fetch him a glass of water from the kitchen, the cat’s owner herself burst into the flat, hands covering her face as sobs were wrenched out of her throat.  
  
Draco blinked in confusion, attempting to gather the ability to ask her what was wrong, but after she dropped her school bag a little too close to his face, she sprinted to her bedroom.  
  
Huh. What a strange occurrence.  
  
‘ _Granger is crying. Granger is crying._ ’ The thought bounced back-and-forth his head, his boozed-up brain trying to make sense of what the fuck was happening.  
  
And when he finally realized the weight of the situation, Draco sat up in one quick and agonizing move.  
  
‘ _Holy shit, Granger is crying!’_ _  
_ _  
_ Trying to ignore the symptoms that equated to his obvious drunken state, he shakily stood up and staggered towards her door where he took advantage of the broken lock and forced himself into her bedroom.  
  
He found Granger sitting on her bed, her face buried into the pillow she was clutching with both arms. Now and then, she would shake and burrow into herself, followed by a series of muffled sobs, and for a long time, Draco did not dare to speak.  
  
To say that seeing Hermione Granger, a seemingly-invulnerable woman who was supposed to be immune to day-to-day tragedy and the humanly need to express emotions, whimpering and weeping was a sobering sight would be an unlawful understatement.  
  
Draco swallowed the reluctance that had been beginning to build up inside him and faced the situation at hand, cautiously taking steps forward. “What happened?”  
  
She visibly stiffened at his voice and chose not to respond, now trying to stifle the sobs escaping her lips.  
  
“Tell me,” he rasped, trying his best not to sound as drunk as he felt. His hand went to touch her shoulder, but he stopped himself last minute.  
  
No sound came from her after his words, save for the occasional weepy hiccup. He let the near-quiet linger, accepting it as something to help ready himself for the emotional conversation he knew was about to come.  
  
If he had gathered some courage before he’d barged into her room, he might’ve been able to take her into his arms and give her the hug he knew she deserved at the moment, but like the sloshed craven he was, he stayed put in his position at the foot of her bed, standing awkwardly still and not knowing what his next move should be.  
  
He’d never been taught how to act properly when faced with a crying woman. In fact, almost all of his etiquette lessons could be taken as a ‘how _not_ to make other people cry’ class. It wasn’t like he’d made anybody cry in his lifetime—he hadn’t, at least not to his knowledge. The sole exception could most likely be his mother after he’d left the Manor and never contacted her again since.  
  
Maybe he should just leave Granger alone.  
  
But before he could contemplate the thought further, Granger herself suddenly looked up from her pillow and glared at him, tears running down her flushed cheeks and all.  
  
Okay. Now, _this_ was the strangest thing he’d seen today.  
  
Seeing her so emotional and human, very unlike her usual modus operandi, was a bit unnerving, to say the least. It had been easy to brush off his worries about her when she herself seemed to have no regard for her own safety, but it was incredibly difficult to pretend not to feel for the woman who was openly crying in front of him.  
  
Draco swallowed again, telling himself not to crumble at the sight of her breaking down. “Tell me what happened.”  
  
At his request, her eyes seemed to break even more with emotion, lips trembling and tears rushing out in response—and he almost broke down himself if he hadn’t managed to clench his jaw and controlled his emotions in time.  
  
This wasn’t about him; it was about her now, about _helping_ her.  
  
“I can’t go to uni anymore.”  
  
Oh. He knew from Hogwarts that Hermione Granger was dedicated to academics, and he knew from living with her that she was, or had been, attending one of the most elite universities in the world. As the sole heir to Granger & Granger Co., he wasn’t quite certain why she wouldn’t be able to study anymore. It wasn’t like she was financially struggling, right?  
  
He blinked once. Twice. Three times.  
  
“Why?”  
  
She bit down on her lower lip, hesitating for a moment. “I was there on an academic scholarship, and there were terms and certain standards that I needed to consistently meet. And I just—it’s just been a really difficult couple of months for me, and I… I wasn’t—” A loud sob from her lips cut her off. “I guess I just couldn’t meet the standards.”  
  
That didn’t really help him understand the situation better. To put it bluntly, he knew Granger hadn’t even needed the scholarship in the first place. Her family had all the money in the world—he just didn’t understand!  
  
Thankfully, she continued, this time trying to hold everything in. “And to be honest, I don’t think they wanted me there in the first place. They only even considered my application when my parents were brought into the fold. And now that—” she paused to take a deep breath to keep herself from breaking into sobs again. “Now that they realized my parents aren’t donating to the school anymore because I…” Granger trailed off, a strange haze in her eyes before she shook it away. “I guess the school just realized it wasn’t worth it to keep me around anymore. And I wasn’t—and it didn’t help that I failed most of my classes. It’s just really—I’m sorry, but it’s just so difficult to—”  
  
This time, when she shoved her head into the pillow to cry even harder than before, Draco didn’t hesitate to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Draco didn’t care to judge her, to let his confusion turn into curiosity. After all, he’d been in a similar place, still ending up in the same place sometimes to this day, and he’d usually just drunk the pain away or laugh it off with his friends until the hurt was momentarily forgotten. He knew now that the best thing he could do was to simply be there with her—for her—and listen, and to be honest, it was all he could do.  
  
The puzzle was still incomplete; he still didn’t understand a few major things about her, but he felt as though, unlike before, he could now see the image of what the puzzle was supposed to be once it was done. He knew enough. He understood that regardless of Granger’s emotional incapabilities, she was just as human as he was—just as uncertain, just as lost, and just as unhappy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2! Finally, Hermione and Draco are growing close! Don't worry, they're going to grow even closer than this ;). What do you guys think so far? Is it shit? Is it good? Tell me all about it in the comments! Once more, thank you to highlyintelligentblonde for doing her amazing alpha and beta work!


	3. Unexpected Relationships

When Draco got home from an afternoon of partying—not nearly as drunk he’d hoped to be—the first thing he saw as soon as he walked into the flat was his flatmate’s rigid form on the couch, her blank eyes directed at the telly in front of her. Normally, this wouldn’t alarm him, but knowing that he’d left the flat so many hours ago to the same image of Granger staring at the T.V. screen with a look that had suggested she was very far from reality was frightening, to say the least. If it weren’t for a certain emotional conversation they’d had a few days ago, the vision before him would be enough to confirm his previous theory about Hermione Granger being a programmed robot sent to destroy him.   
  
From the perspective of an ordinary man, nothing would be amiss, and they would conclude that Granger looked perfectly fine—her short curly hair was in place, there wasn’t a single wrinkle on her expensive nightdress nor were there evidence of a recent emotional breakdown, her skin had a healthy glow, and she looked alright. But as someone who was living with her for the past couple of months now, Draco knew that Granger never looked this perfect whenever she was at home. It wasn’t to say she was a lazy bum who didn’t care about her appearance at home, but he knew that she certainly didn’t put this much effort into it—not when he was the only one to see it.   
  
She was trying to mask the fact that she wasn’t alright by making sure she looked better than alright, and that was something he’d realized shortly after their conversation.   
  
Despite the aforementioned talk they’d had four days ago, nothing major was truly altered in their dynamic. If he were to observe a noticeable change after their conversation, he’d say that they ignored each other much more than ever before. Perhaps it was because they both had no idea how to handle great emotional shifts in their lives, and they obviously dealt with their own problems differently.   
  
But he couldn’t just do nothing and ignore her anymore! He didn’t know how so many people in the world could ignore alarming signs of loved ones’—not that he loved Granger in any way—deteriorating mental state. Just being exposed daily to Granger’s way of dealing with misery was enough to affect his frame of mind, and it was getting too bloody depressing in the flat. It was clear to him that they both needed a certain change in their everyday lives.   
  
That was when he realized, now that Granger couldn’t go to school anymore, she was probably rotting in the confines of their  _ sweet, beloved _ flat every single day. It wasn’t like she had places to go, or people to meet, or friends to mingle with, or family to impress, or even a significant other to dote on—as far as he knew, at least. So now, the genius mind he sometimes couldn’t comprehend himself realized that all Granger needed was something to do. If it wouldn’t help her current situation, then it would at least distract her from what she was going through. And that would suffice, he thought.   
  
“Hey, Granger,” he calls out, feeling a smirk slide across his face.   
  
She jumped slightly at the sound of his voice before turning to look at him with a half-hearted glare. “What, Malfoy?”   
  
“Let’s go out for supper tonight.”   
  
When she gave him her trademark ‘are you fucking serious?’ look, Draco almost backed out and almost decided to just leave her alone, but he stood his ground, knowing that his persistence would not only lead to Granger eventually agreeing but would also infuriate her even more.   
  
‘ _ Because that’s what I’m doing this for, _ ’ he told himself. ‘ _ To annoy Granger and to stop her from annoying  _ me  _ with her being all sad and moping around all day.’  
  
_

* * *

  
It had taken half an hour of begging and pleading with Granger before he’d convinced her to finally go out and have dinner with him. Of course, she'd only agreed to come on a certain horrifying condition—she had to pick the restaurant  _ and  _ his clothes to wear for the ‘special occasion’.    
  
That was how they’d ended up in a cramped seemingly century-old café a couple of blocks away from their flat building, Granger all dolled up right beside him whilst he wore the same suit and tie he’d sworn never to even glance at again after the first time he’d bought his own clothes.    
  
And he was guessing from the several curious and baffled looks they’d been receiving ever since they walked into the diner that he and Granger appeared downright ridiculous, and maybe a little out of their minds as well. The strange glances they’d been receiving, he thought, might have something to do with the fact that the interesting pair they made seemed to be more expensive than the entire café—including both the staff and the clientele!   
  
If Granger’s mission was to humiliate the both of them and expose him to the ordinary onlookers who probably could never imagine the amount of money their net worths combined would make—and judging by the minuscule hint of amusement glinting in her eyes, that was most probably the case—then Draco thought that she'd done quite a wonderful job.   
  
But his skin felt like crawling when he was reminded of the fact that, despite the less-than-ideal setting, the image of Draco Malfoy dining with  _ the  _ Hermione fucking Granger whilst they were practically both draped in money would be more than enough to satisfy the great Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy for, maybe, a few hundred lifetimes.   
  
Why the hell had he done this again?   
  
“Sorry,” Granger mumbled when her elbow bumped into his for the third time that night. The confined spaces were beginning to infuriate him now, truly. For fuck’s sake, he could hear the conversation that was being held from the tables nearest to them in great detail, and it was positively revolting.   
  
But instead of taking his irritation out on Granger, Draco ignored every accidental contact their bodies made, every disgustingly explicit detail that he could hear from the other tables’ conversations, and continued to shove a mouthful of carrot cake into his mouth.    
  
There was a variety of mediocre food on their table—two plates of a more traditional supper, three more plates of dessert, and a salad full of sad-looking vegetables that perfectly matched Granger’s mundane life. But he gravitated towards sweet things, always had been. It was one of the few habits his parents hadn’t been fond of when he was still under their wing, but it was also another thing that they couldn’t control for him—even back then, no matter how hard they’d tried.   
  
Maybe that was why he liked sweets so much. Back then, it was the only thing he could fully control in his life.   
  
“You know,” he started absently, more focused on his food than on his words, “maybe we can get ice cream on the way home or something. I haven’t had them in a while, and I thought it would be a good non-alcoholic toast to our newfound friendship.” He chuckled, piercing another cake with his fork before giving it a taste. “What do you think, Granger?”   
  
Expecting a dry response from her, Draco frowned, slightly offended when she didn’t give him a reply at all. He turned towards her, about to fake his hurt at her choice to ignore him, but the words turned dry on his tongue when he saw the ashen pallor of her face, the slight widening of her eyes, and the small ‘o’ her lips formed.   
  
When he turned his gaze to what she was staring at, Draco saw someone familiar leering at them from the entrance of the café.    
  
The man was tall, taller than Draco. He dressed like he had at least five important meetings and gatherings to attend to today. The man looked traditionally handsome with unblemished skin, strong jawline, and slicked-back brown hair, but at the same time, his glare remained cold and furious.   
  
The man stomped towards them with the kind of authority that would best suit a 40-year-old man. He stopped right beside Granger, glaring down at her patronizingly. That was when Draco recognized him.   
  
“Theodore Nott,” he greeted, feeling wary but masking it with a polite smile and an even more courteous nod. Nott was the son of an important business mogul, though Draco couldn’t be bothered to remember what kind of business his family dealt with. If he recalled correctly, Theodore Nott had attended Hogwarts as well. Like Granger, however, he’d been one year ahead of Draco. “I can’t say I ever expected to see someone of your status here.”   
  
Nott turned his scathing glare to him, turning his nose up as he spoke, “Believe me, being in the same room as a wretched lowlife like you displeases me in ways you cannot and will never, for the rest of your wasteful life, comprehend.”   
  
He rolled his eyes, trying to keep his temper in check. “Nice to see you too, arsehole.”   
  
“Theo,” Granger articulates in a soft, shocked tone, forcing the man in question to look at her. At her use of the nickname, Draco frowned and hoped that she wasn’t associated with the useless piece of shit standing by their table. “What are you doing here?”   
  
“Do not question me, woman,” Nott snarled, fists clenching at his sides. “In fact, that particular query should be directed at you—what are  _ you  _ doing here, especially with this poxy excuse of a human being?”   
  
“We’re just having a friendly supper.” Draco could see Granger’s face flush momentarily in what he assumed was humiliation before her calm and collected facade took over once again. “May I at least have the opportunity to introduce you two?”   
  
Nott sneered at him, losing all trace of the attractiveness he’d found in him earlier. “No need. I know exactly who this is—the estranged son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, more commonly known nowadays as the punchline of every local tabloid. And I would assume if he is close enough to you to dine with you, that he knows already that I am your betrothed.”   
  
Okay. Draco perceived himself as a man with great self-control and impeccable restraint, and he had nineteen years of his life following his parents’ orders to prove that. Until very recently, he’d gone along with everything his parents would ask of him, without doubts or questions. Even when he had begun to question his life, he’d never physically or verbally lashed out at his parents for things he blamed them for. Why? Because Draco was taught well, and he’d been taught never to let his personal feelings get ahead of him. He’d kept it all in then, and only after his rebellion did he start letting it all out.   
  
If it were any other circumstance or if Nott’s insults didn’t hit too close to home, Draco would’ve let it pass and wait for the perfect opportunity to take all of his emotions out on the sod, but most of what Nott had said about him was actually true, and truth be told, hearing the words in the air, demeaning and degrading, hurt him.   
  
And he wasn’t about to let Nott go without letting him know of his own anger.   
  
He shot up in his seat, narrowing his eyes.   
  
“One day,” he muttered, hoping the words came out as wrathful as it sounded in his mind, “when you have a wife who loves diamonds and gold jewellery more than you, when you have children who resent you, when your secretary is sick of sucking your old wrinkly cock—”   
  
“Malfoy,” Granger tried to interrupt, but he ignored her.   
  
“—when you’re all alone in your hideous skyscraper that’s higher than your will to live, nothing but a computer screen and paperwork for company, you will see me in the fucking local tabloids, and you will realize that, unlike you, I am happy in my normal fucking life and that it was you who wasted your worthless time obsessing over money and other useless shit!”   
  
Granger stood up suddenly to block their eyes from meeting, her hand slamming into the table noisily.    
  
Draco jumped at the action, shocked to see the smallest display of anger from her.   
  
She turned her back on him, facing the git. When she spoke, no trace of emotion was in her voice. “Theo, will you please be so kind as to escort me home?”   
  
“Let’s go,” Nott demanded, pulling her arm, intending to leave with her immediately.   
  
Draco frowned at the manhandling, quick to move as well, wishing to follow them, but Granger stopped his steps with a hand. “Could you stay here for a little while, Draco? I would like to have a private conversation with my beloved at home.”   
  
His scowl deepened, suspicious of the both of them, but silently nodded his assent.   
  
“Thank you.” Granger nodded back at him before she was dragged away by her—what was the term she'd used?  _ Beloved? _ _  
_ _  
_ It wasn’t until he sat back down, chewed some of the chocolate cake Granger had ordered, and replayed the tension-filled conversation in his head did Draco realize that both Granger and Nott had admitted to being… romantically linked to each other! Nott had claimed they were engaged, and even though all that Granger had implied was that she loved the bloody sod, Draco knew he was an idiot for not realizing what they were to each other earlier. It should’ve been as clear as day to him after he’d seen the possessive glint in Nott’s eyes.   
  
God, he was a dolt.   
  
Well, he supposed he should just stay here and finish the food. After all, it would be quite unbecoming of him to interfere with a lovers’ quarrel.   
  
But soon enough, curiosity—and the daunting aches that lingered in his stomach which he would later identify as intuition—simply got the best of him, and he just couldn’t wait a little longer to go home and check on the strange couple.  _  
  
_

* * *

  
As soon as he walked into the flat, he caught sight of Nott’s back and tense shoulders, his hands making erratic gestures as he ranted about something that had to do with Granger’s supposed unacceptable behaviour tonight. Draco frowned as his eyes searched in the room for his flatmate, heartbeat quickening and that feeling in his stomach getting more and more apparent, and when his gaze finally landed on—   
  
_ ‘What the fuck?’ _ _  
_ _  
_ Bile rose to his throat, out of sheer apprehension or disgust—Draco didn’t really know. All he knew was the sight made him uncomfortable to indescribable extremes.   
  
Granger sat on the floor, her head low and shoulders slumped in defeat. Her short curls fell over her face, but when Nott pulled her up by the arms and shook her harshly, demeaning words still coming out of the git’s mouth, Draco saw something he definitely hadn’t seen on Granger’s face before—a reddish-purple bruise forming on her right cheek.   
  
It didn’t take long for Draco to connect the dots, and he acted out of instinct. He slammed the door closed, not missing a beat even when Nott turned to glare at him. He approached them with huge yet fearful steps as his hands clenched into impatient fists.   
  
“Get out,” Nott demanded, and Draco’s eyes narrowed in on the red imprints of the bloke’s fingernails where it remained clasped around Granger’s arms.    
  
His fury grew, no longer overshadowed by his nervousness, and he didn’t have time to think twice about ramming his fist into Nott’s face, for he only realized he’d done it after he heard Granger’s dick of a boyfriend groaned in pain.   
  
Nott’s hands travelled to his hopefully-broken nose, still whimpering like the pathetic sod he was. Now that Draco could see he was sort of distracted, his attention moved over to Granger’s face, searching for a non-verbal signal for him to focus on, for an ache he could dote on, but he found nothing—her expression remained infuriatingly impassive as usual, and it served as cool water that doused all over his overheated anger, bringing him back to the surface.   
  
He looked back at Nott who was now on his knees, still clutching his face in agony, and swallowed the panic that tried to overwhelm him once more.   
  
“You shouldn’t have done that.”   
  
His head snapped up at Granger’s words, a sneer automatically forming around his mouth as he observed her standing up nonchalantly and brushing invisible lint on her dress as though she hadn’t just got hit in the face by her stupid boyfriend.   
  
He opened his mouth to inform her of her abnormal unconcerned composure about everything, but the words couldn’t reach his anxiety-addled tongue, so he just shook his head slowly, exhaustion and disappointment washing over his entire body.   
  
This might be the longest night he’d ever lived through, and he knew that even though the slow and gruelling darkness was already beginning to consume him, worst of it had yet to come.   
  
He just wished he had enough energy to last him a night of dealing with Granger’s bullshit.   
  


* * *

  
The last glare Nott directed at him before he walked out of the flat felt less threatening now that his face was bandaged. Draco sighed in relief when the prat disappeared from his sight, his taut muscles relaxing at last.    
  
It was Granger who’d insisted that Nott be bandaged before he left, ushering him to her bedroom for privacy she hadn’t received, Draco having followed them shortly after. There, he’d watched in discomfort as Granger tried to heal and break up with her lady-hitting boyfriend at the same time. Of course, Nott had put up a fight, dropping to his knees to beg her for forgiveness. He’d sung the same song abusive people sang when the person they were hurting finally found the sense to leave, telling Granger that he would change, that he hadn’t meant to hurt her, and other meaningless reassurances a git like him liked to say.   
  
Thankfully, Granger had enough common sense to stand her ground and tell her then-boyfriend to fuck off with his apologies and get the hell out of their flat—not in those exact words since Granger had decided to be more polite and less vulgar, but with the same force and meaning.   
  
Draco began to yawn, exhaustion now holding a death grip on his bones and muscles.    
  
“What are you going to do if he decided to file a lawsuit against you?” Granger suddenly voiced, her words tainted with the smallest of worry.   
  
He only smirked, shrugging her concerns and pretending he hadn’t had the same fear just half an hour ago. “My father knows some great lawyers.”   
  
She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “The same father who avoids talking about you during interviews and press conferences?”   
  
“Yes.” Draco frowned as he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her. He didn’t bother dwelling on the sting that sliced through his chest when she'd mentioned his father. His father who seemed to be less-than-enthusiastic when it came to talking about his existence on camera. “How do you know that?”   
  
“I beg your pardon?” Granger’s lips slightly quirk up, a teasing tilt in her tone while her eyes glimmered in pride. “I happen to know everything.”   
  
He was now thoroughly confused. Here in front of him was a Granger he wasn’t familiar with. Perhaps breaking up with one’s significant other felt more freeing than he’d originally thought.   
  
‘ _ Speaking of significant others… _ ’   
  
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were dating Nott?” he demanded, ignoring the fact that they’d practically tried to forget the other existed for the first few months they lived together and the fact that she probably knew as much about him as he did about her. He very much doubted she knew about how he’d dated and broken up with a man named Adam—then dated that same ex-boyfriend’s older brother as some sort of rebound before later feeling guilty and breaking up with him as well—shortly after he’d moved with her.   
  
But that wasn’t the point! Draco felt like he had a right to know who Granger was currently dating if the man in question was an abusive bratty git!   
  
At his admittedly aggressive question, she closed off again, the barely-there emotion dancing in her eyes earlier now shutting down. She stiffened and closed her eyes, as though readying herself for the conversation. “I didn’t know it was any of your business.”   
  
“The bloke thought we were on a date, Granger, and he went all crazy and decided to hit you.”   
  
She scoffed, mumbling, “It didn’t even hurt.”   
  
Draco sputtered, unable to believe the words coming out of her mouth at the moment. “That’s not the bloody point!”   
  
“And what is the point, exactly? I find myself lost in this asinine  _ heart-to-heart  _ conversation with you.”   
  
“The point is—why are you letting all these people walk all over you?”   
  
Granger scowled. “I broke up with him, didn’t I?”   
  
“Yes,” he hissed, frustrated, “but it’s quite alarming for this night to be the second time I find a man looming over your pitiful form, you know?”   
  
“Pitiful?” she repeated, her eyes blazing. It felt relieving to finally receive a believable reaction from her. “If I’m so pitiful, maybe you shouldn’t have helped me then!”   
  
Draco groaned, putting a hand in front of his eyes in frustration. “I don’t want to fight with you.”   
  
At first, nothing but silence reigned between them after his words, the meaningful syllables and unknown depths to his sentence slowly arising. He didn’t dare look back at her, choosing to hide behind his palm for now, afraid of how she’d respond to his short yet complex words.    
  
Soon, the quite became so overbearing that he almost turned around, took back his words, and left. But he didn’t. He stayed when he heard her sigh in resignation, take a few steps before stopping right in front of him. He stayed when he realized she still had something to say, never wanting her response to get stuck in a knot in her throat or get lost in the harsh, biting winds that were non-existent in their flat.   
  
“I know,” she said softly—so softly that he almost thought her voice was just a figment of his imagination, a lost swirl of the air slipping through slightly-opened windows.   
  
Removing his hand that blocked his view, he saw Granger with open and honest eyes before him, a miserable frown on her lips. The sincerity in her expression made him want to look away, but he didn’t, choosing to clear his throat to somehow get rid of the tender turn their conversation made. “Let’s start this again. Why didn’t you tell me you were dating Nott?”   
  
“It’s not relevant information,” she answered, pursing her lips. Silently, he was thankful that she shifted away from the direction he’d thought they were heading blindly into, but he also felt as though she was closing off again. Before he could tell her about it though, she continued. “It’s not like I love him or anything—he’s sort of a prat. It’s not like he loves me either. It’s all just a very strange situation.”   
  
“Explain.”   
  
“My parents are rich. His parents are rich.” She shrugged, and suddenly, it was clear to him that they had different interpretations of elaboration and explanation. “It’s like an arranged relationship, but it wasn’t done without our consent. He and I agreed to give it a try.”   
  
“Why would you agree to date someone like that?” The sneer that curled upon his lips was completely instinctual. “Imagine living with him, it would’ve been exhausting to deal with his attitude alone.”   
  
She glared at him, the weakest one from her so far. “I didn’t know him at the time, and it’s not like we see each other every day. He’s always busy, after all, and I… I’m supposed to be attending uni. Until tonight, we haven’t really seen each other for six months or so.”   
  
Draco nodded, a question bubbling out of his throat as curiosity replaced his clear dislike towards her ex-boyfriend. “About that, can I ask you something really personal?”   
  
Granger eyed him warily before reluctantly nodding. “Okay.”   
  
“Why are you living in this shoddy flat, exactly?” he blurted out, frowning. It was one of the things he couldn’t quite understand about her situation. “It’s a question that’s been brewing in my head for months now, and… I guess I just don’t get it; you have all the money in the world, why did you choose to live here, of all places?”   
  
“Maybe that’s a little too personal for my taste,” she sardonically said, not at all shocked at his question. Knowing her, she’d probably seen it coming. “I could ask you the same thing, Mr Malfoy. You’re the sole heir to one of the oldest money in Britain, and yet you chose to live here, in this ‘shoddy flat’, as you eloquently described.”   
  
He should’ve expected her to redirect his question like that, but he didn’t know any better. He turned defensive and admittedly irritated, every muscle in his body growing taut, when she decided to turn the tables on him. Was this her point? Was his question far too much for either of them to handle? Or was it the fact that he was too ashamed of his truths the thing that made him want to shut off and barricade himself as well as she’d been doing?   
  
Now, Draco could tell her about how he’d planned to leave Malfoy Manor and all the insane shit his parents had put him through, but in all honesty, he didn’t think he would ever find the courage to reveal the reason behind his persistence to escape and live out a life without ever succumbing to his parents’ control again. Even to this day, it was difficult for him to admit aloud how utterly lost he’d felt under their roof.    
  
He couldn’t tell her he was here because he was desperately trying to search for the real Draco Malfoy, for his own reasons for living, for his own passions and interests, and for a life and identity that he enjoyed and approved of. All of it sounded pathetic in his head, and there was no way he’d ever say that out loud.   
  
“Touché, Granger,” he muttered through gritted teeth at last, coaxing a bitter chuckle from his lungs.   
  
At that, she only nodded and glanced away. A few seconds later, the possibility of her having nothing to say to him anymore struck in his brain, and he felt like he had no choice but to leave. Sighing, he turned towards the door, intending to exit before things could get… weird again.   
  
His fingers gripped the doorknob, about to twist it, but he felt rendered to stop when she called out his name in the gentlest rendition of it. “Draco.”   
  
Something fluttered in his stomach as he glanced back at her and saw the softest earnestness glittering in her eyes, his heart beating in sync with the steps she took towards him. He didn’t know what the pleasant feeling was, and at this point, he was afraid to ask. “Yes?”   
  
She didn’t hesitate to lean in and press a kiss on his cheek, catching him off-guard. It was a quick pressing of her lips on his skin, but he felt it all the way to his bones, momentarily turning him weak and unable to move.   
  
“I just want to say thank you,” she simply said after pulling away, a small smile playing about those lips that had just been on his cheek a few moments ago. “You’ve done a lot for me these past few weeks, and I was just—” It was as if she caught herself being too vulnerable in the middle of her sentence and decided to cut it off entirely.   
  
Then, she practically sprinted away from him, thoroughly embarrassed.   
  
And no, Draco didn’t miss the adorable flushing of her cheeks right before she left—the sight of which was enough to plant a permanent, stupid grin on his face.   
  
He acknowledged the high chance of  _ that  _ version of Granger disappearing in the night without a trace, but he decided he rather enjoyed seeing her go through different human emotions for once.   
  
Truth be told, it was a refreshing experience to be exposed to Hermione Granger’s real self, and he’d give up anything in the world to see her being expressive again, to catch a glimpse of her adorable shifting emotions and expressions.   
  
His smile widened, coming up with the most brilliant half-arsed idea he’d ever had.   
  
At this point, he guessed he would just have to coax the emotions out of her himself, and if he had to annoy her to death to achieve his goal, then he’d gladly do it—every hour of every day, even.    
  
Huh, 24/7 of ‘annoying’ Hermione Granger. He wasn’t even going to lie; the mere thought of it already sounded like a blast. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco's relationship is progressing so quickly, don't you think? Or maybe it's not moving quickly enough for you guys? Don't worry! The next chapter is going to be so much fun! :)
> 
> Here's another thank you to my alpha an beta for this story, highlyintelligentblonde! You the real mvp!


	4. Operation: Make Granger Show Emotion

* * *

Normally, Draco didn’t fancy himself as a bibliophile or even as someone who read books for fun. He’d always done it out of necessity, either for school or for his image or the frequent times when his father would demand he memorized the biographies of his politician forefathers. But he had never done it out of his own volition nor had he ever enjoyed delving into the lives of other important people. Other’s lives and achievements didn’t quite pique his interest. As far as he knew, they were as unimportant as anybody else in terms of the bigger picture, and he just really didn’t care.   
  
Surprisingly, the type of books he actually enjoyed reading usually consisted of two protagonists and their banal journey of falling in love. And now that he’d refused to waste his time drinking and smoking every hour of every day, getting lost in the pages of silly love stories was all he could do in the flat.    
  
After he’d decided to stay in the flat with Granger, both to annoy her and so that she wouldn’t feel as miserable as she would when alone, he had almost instantly realized that she loved reading. Although she preferred to do it alone in her bedroom, Draco always insisted on accompanying her. He didn’t want to leave her alone because he intended to never miss even the shortest moment of her expressing emotions.   
  
One boring day, he’d decided to take a book with a rather provocative cover from Granger’s enormous collection of books in her room—seriously, the bedroom looked more like a library than anything else; he couldn’t believe he’d never noticed—from then on, he was hooked. Not on drugs, as some people would expect from him, but on these stupidly clichéd romance novels Granger liked so much.   
  
Surprisingly, she had been ecstatic to see him enjoying her books and had taken it upon herself to ask him significant questions about the plot and characters as some sort of test every night before they went to bed.   
  
Not that he would say this out loud, but it was positively refreshing to see Granger’s eyes light up in satisfaction every time he would answer a question of hers correctly, and when he would get it wrong, she’d typically dive into these in-depth rants—with a passionate twinkle in her eyes and an adorable shade of rose pink flushing over her cheeks, mind you—that explained why he was wrong.   
  
It was an enchanting experience. While he admitted that it was an unusual change in their dynamic, he could also safely say that it was a welcome one nonetheless. He would rather have Granger scolding him over interpreting certain plot points the wrong way than the old boring version of her who seemed to infuriate him for her amusement.   
  
So, to take it up a notch, Draco’s brilliant mind had come up with another ingenious idea!   
  
He decided to start a book club.   
  
And that was how he had got into this situation, Granger glaring at him after pulling him into her bedroom while the other members of the book club, mostly consisting of their neighbours, waited for them in the sitting room.   
  
“Surprise!” he exclaimed, unable to contain his grin.   
  
The smile never waned from his face even as Granger scolded him about how a terrible idea it was to invite strangers into their homes, and when she realized none of her lectures was getting into his head anyway, she sighed and told him to start their newly-formed book club already.   
  
He pretended not to see the way her eyes brightened up and the way her lips slightly pulled up every time her favourite character was mentioned amongst this week’s book discussion, but he made sure to lock the memory away somewhere easily accessible in his brain.   
  


* * *

  
“You’ve never had ice cream before?” he asked, utterly outraged and almost offended.   
  
Granger shook her head absently. “My parents always made sure I stay away from sweet and cold foods.”   
  
Pity bubbled up in Draco’s chest. He couldn’t imagine the kind of horror she was living if she’d been forbidden to get a taste of such decadent delicacy as ice cream! Dear Lord, merely thinking about it was enough for tears to build up in his eyes. No wonder Granger lived as though she was an emotionless robot before he forced his way into her life! How else could anyone cope without ice cream?   
  
That night, Draco made sure to put a blindfold over Granger’s eyes before they entered the ice cream parlour and only untied the knot once the ice cream cone was in her hand. He’d ordered for her the best flavour he knew, cookies and cream.   
  
He even took out his phone, intending to record her first reaction to ice cream, as she held the cone in her hand.   
  
Granger, of course, thought he was being outright ridiculous and groaned at the sight of the camera directed at her. “Malfoy, stop making this a bigger deal than it needs to be.”   
  
“It  _ is  _ a big deal, Granger!” he declared, taking the matters as seriously as his father would the election. He tapped on the red pulsing button on his phone screen than entailed the start of the recording. “Now, go forth, my child, and have a taste of paradise.”   
  
She rolled her eyes at his antics, mumbling about how stupid he was acting before sticking her tongue out and demurely licking the ice cream in her hand. Trust Hermione Granger to act as prissy as ever when it came to eating sodding ice cream.   
  
He felt a smug smile slipping onto place as Granger’s eyes widened at the first taste of cold creamy goodness, letting out a boisterous laugh when she dipped in for more. There was a gentle strumming of an unknown emotion that fluttered in his chest as he stopped recording and continued to watch her devour the ice cream with uncharacteristic childishness.   
  
Since then, Draco never let the ice cream stock in their freezer go empty.   
  


* * *

  
Somehow, getting shitfaced with Granger didn’t make him feel as terrible as it did without her.    
  
He’d always managed to bury the guilt that came with drinking all day somewhere even he couldn’t find, but tonight, he could not find the need to do it. Perhaps the fact that Granger looked drunker than he did made him feel better about himself. Perhaps wasting time with Granger didn’t feel like wasting time at all.   
  
A smile popped on his face when he saw her flash a grin of her own. She looked so pretty when she was drunk—her cheeks were flushed, her lids half-closed and her eyes gave off more secrets than her tongue ever could, and her lips, wet from all the bottles she'd downed, never looked so tempting.    
  
His favourite part about drunk Granger was that she knew how to dance, and she danced so very sweetly.   
  
Too hammered to give a fuck, Draco unabashedly leered at her hips that swayed to the melody of the blaring music before taking a hold of them, his own body starting to adapt to the rhythm she'd set. Instead of stiffening and pushing him away from her like what she would’ve done had her inhibitions not been lowered by the alcohol, she just let out a sweet gasp and leaned further into his chest, her back unbearably close to his front.   
  
All of it felt too informal to be considered as a proper dance, but who the fuck was there to judge? His friends certainly didn’t mind, judging from the drunken amusement in their eyes. Granger didn’t look like she cared about doing anything proper either as she never halted her torturous grinding against him.    
  
He watched in fascination when she gathered her hair to one side, tilting her head and baring her pristine neck to his eyes. Beads of sweat dripped down from her scalp to her neck, pooling in the dip of her collarbone, letting him know that she did it to try to cool herself off and not to tempt him, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t the most arresting sight he’d ever seen.    
  
_ Fuck. _   
  
Drunk Granger was a goddess on her own, and Draco would be honoured to be given a chance to properly worship her. He wanted to do it. He wanted to worship her—and her swinging hips, her enticing neck and collarbones, and of course, the modest hint of cleavage that, from his view above, looked clearer than a cloudless afternoon.   
  
Draco groaned, letting his head fall on her shoulder so that he could be face-to-face with heaven.   
  
He heard her giggle, and a distracted smile slid on his face at the sound. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he put his lips close to her ear, whispering, “Let me worship you.”   
  
A shudder ran through her entire figure when his breath tickled her ear before she nodded a little too eagerly.   
  
And he put his mouth to work instantly, his tongue catching one dripping sweat before it landed. He latched on to her neck, nipping at her flesh, flicking his tongue over and over, and relishing in every blissful moan that came out of her lips—which he realized looked far too delectable to be left alone.   
  
He regretfully pulled away from her neck, ignoring her squirms of protest, and, with a hand, pushed her face to face him, their lips a mere breath away. His eyes flutter closed instinctively, and he leaned in, desperate to have those lips on top of his.   
  
“I have to go to the loo.”   
  
It was like having a bucket of ice poured on his head, ruining all the heat that had built up from their moment.   
  
Draco let go of her hips, opened his eyes, and took one step away from her. Their eyes met shortly before he glanced away, his face heating up in embarrassment. What the fuck was he just about to do? Kiss Granger?    
  
He was drunker than he’d thought.   
  
Rubbing a hand over his face as an attempt to wipe off the overwhelming embarrassment, Draco used his other hand to promptly shoo her away. “Go.”   
  
She responded with one flustered squeak before he heard her run away from him.   
  
‘ _ What just had happened? _ ’   
  
With what felt like a permanent scowl on his face, Draco walked towards the nearest chair and took a seat, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child.    
  
Before, it hadn’t seemed like a good idea to let Granger fraternize with his own circle of friends, but now that he actually considered her as one, she’d fitted perfectly into the group. But then again, Granger was wasted at the moment, and she would most definitely chastise him for his behaviour as soon as the last drop of alcohol slipped from her insides!    
  
Suddenly, he felt grateful to the high heavens that Granger stopped him when she did. He’d brought her here to let loose and have fun; feasting on her neck hadn’t been part of the plan! They had just begun admitting being friends, for fuck’s sake—and he was certain that in the list of appropriate things to do to/with your friend, leaving several love bites on their neck wasn’t one of them!   
  
What was he thinking? He could just ignore what had happened. Yes, that sounded like the best idea at the moment. He would just ignore… whatever they’d done while dancing and act like nothing was bothering him at all.    
  
After all, making mistakes while you were drunk and acting like nothing happened was a normal thing to do, right?  
  


* * *

  
Draco tried his best not to let his aggravation show to the flirty old women in front of him. They’d been making jokes about his… appendage for an uncomfortable minute or two now, and it was beginning to irritate him to the core.   
  
The smile on his face was forced, but he kept it on even as one of the women put her hand on his bicep and started caressing his arm. He felt his hand, resting on the notepad held by his other hand, twitch in well-suppressed irritation. All he wanted was to get their order and pass it off to the cook; elderly women constantly glancing at his crotch wasn’t part of the job description!   
  
He glanced at Granger, who was barely managing to stifle her laughter on the counter, and gave her a nod that hopefully transmitted rescue signals from his begging eyes to her amused ones.   
  
When Granger simply chose to ignore the non-verbal message and look away from his increasingly-traumatizing situation, he swore he felt his heart break into disappointed pieces.   
  
‘ _ Bitch,’  _ he thought, but at the same time, he felt as though he could respect her refusal to help him, especially since he was the one who had suggested they take on these low-paying  _ humble  _ jobs offered by a new restaurant owner from their book club anyway.    
  
He’d volunteered to work because frankly, he was getting bored with doing nothing but ruin his immune system by drinking all day. Naturally, he’d forced Granger to go to work with him, so he could spend his free time on work getting more reactions from her.    
  
Draco, of course, hadn’t anticipated that she would be the one who’d end up infuriating him.   
  
He sighed, accepting his fate and turning back to his one true nightmare—a gaggle of ancient crones who seemed to be too interested in him.    
  
He’d come up with something to get Granger back for this.   
  


* * *

  
Being the unwise and impulsive young adult he was and instead of saving up money for future expenses, Draco decided to spend his first pay packet to take Granger to the beach. Initially, she hadn’t wanted to go and told him with a straight face that she’d rather burn her books and die with them a thousand times over than go near the ocean, quickly adding factual arguments about why it was a bad idea to go the beach—the unpredictable rainy season being one of them.   
  
But he’d shrugged all of her words off and insisted that the sun was going to stay high in the sky without stormy clouds getting in the way today. And he’d eventually convinced her to come with him after another excruciating condition—he would let her scrub sunscreen and other disgusting skin products all over him.   
  
He’d somehow accidentally let it slip that sunscreen was his sworn enemy, and Granger had grown all worried and jaw-slacked. That was how he forced her into the beach—by threatening not to take care of his skin and taking advantage of Granger’s concern for it. And now, the stupid products were truly about to be spread on his precious, ethereal skin.    
  
Did he already mention how much he hated white creamy stuff on his skin? Unless it was, of course, another person’s—   
  
“Malfoy!” Granger waved four different skin products in his face, looking quite voluptuous in the two-piece swimsuit he’d bought in a hurry for her after learning she didn’t own any swimwear.  
  
Letting his eyes rake over her form, Draco refused to acknowledge the presence of the products in her hands. It was much better to focus instead on the delectable curves presented before him, on her enticing cleavage all the way down to her bared navel, then on her shapely legs—unashamed to let his gaze linger on a certain enigma between those lovely thighs.   
  
“You look good enough to eat, Granger,” he told her, swallowing.   
  
She grunted, finally sitting across from him on their beach blanket. “Ew, Draco.”   
  
A retort formed on his tongue that would have referenced the time she was pliant and willing in his arms right before their almost-kiss, but knowing that it would bring them back to reality, Draco opted for not mentioning the incident. He shrugged instead, leaning back until he was lying down, the sun’s rays penetrating his skin ever-so-blissfully.   
  
He closed his eyes, attempting to relax before hearing the bone-chilling sound of a plastic cap popping open, and his eyes blinked wide open with it. “No.”   
  
“Yes,” the she-devil herself insisted, squeezing a plentiful amount of the sunscreen onto her hand. He slightly jumped in surprise when her hand made contact with his thigh, dangerously close to uncharted territory. “Your skin is so pale. There is no way you’re leaving this place without a sunburn.”   
  
When her fingers accidentally grazed against his groin, Draco grabbed her wrist to stop it from travelling further.    
  
He hated skin products because something in the ingredients always made his skin itchy and red just a few hours after use, and the smell was more-often-than-not horrendous. Not to mention, cream products left this repulsive oily layer on top of his skin that never failed to make him uncomfortable and sick to his stomach. Those were the primary reasons why he didn’t want her putting products on him. It hadn’t even crossed his mind how bad an idea it was to have Granger’s hands running all over his bare skin!   
  
He cleared his throat, but his words still came out as raspy. “I’ll do it.”   
  
Granger frowned, disapproval passing over her eyes. “If this is another attempt to—”   
  
“It’s not!” He sat up. At this point, he thought it was less torturous to endure itchy rashes for days than to have Granger touching him in intimate places. He knew he would regret this in the days to come, but he didn’t want to deal with a painfully-awkward situation that would surely come if he allowed Granger to put her hands on him again. “I can do it, and I will.”   
  
He took the sunscreen bottle from her and began his self-inflicted torture.   
  
Afterwards, he ran head-straight into the ocean, hoping the salty waters would cleanse him of Granger’s vile skin products. When he got far enough and the water was the same level as his hip, he looked back and saw Granger standing far enough so that the waters couldn’t touch her feet yet close enough to still catch a glimpse of him.    
  
He liked to think that this was another sign of her undeniable concern for his well-being, that she was willing to get close to what he knew was one of her greatest fears just to ensure his safety, and that she truly wasn’t the uncaring machine he’d originally thought she was.   
  
Whatever it was, Draco still appreciated it, and he very much appreciated how she trusted him enough to let him know of her constantly-varying emotions.   


* * *

  
Draco hated rainy days. The grey clouds in the sky overpowered every other colour, and the world turned into this almost monochromatic scene where everything looked like duller and sadder versions of themselves.    
  
It boggled his mind how someone could think rain as a calming draught to soothe all worries since the constant downpour made him think of impending doom most of the time. Merely hearing the frequent drip-drops of water sent his heart into a stampede.    
  
Rain made him feel as though the clouds were waiting for him to come out and be swallowed whole by the wet earth. There was this constant tugging at his heart that made him feel like something was about to go wrong.    
  
So, no, Draco Malfoy wasn’t a big fan of the rain.   
  
Not to mention, he was forced to stay at home all day because of the rain. There was nothing fun about one’s clothes getting drenched, about stepping into muddy puddles—not when all he could think about was how terrible the rain made him feel. It wasn’t like he could sleep the whole thing over either; he felt too agitated to even close his eyes longer than three seconds.   
  
He was alone in his room, lying down with his hands beneath his head. He had just finished another romance novel of Granger’s, and there were no more productive things for him to do; working was not an option as the restaurant was closed on Mondays, and his flatmate apparently couldn’t be bothered today because she was one of those people who thought of the rain as a solution to all their problems. She was blasting sad songs that seemed to be older than both of them combined on her blown-out speakers, making for a very miserable combination.    
  
Inside Malfoy Manor, he often hadn’t been able to hear the rain at all. The walls were thick in his home, and all it had taken for him to ignore the relentless raindrops was head towards the heart of the Manor, a place that was farthest from the outside.   
  
A pang of regret pricked his heart, the same pain that would hit him every time he’d think of home. He couldn’t gather enough courage to admit he missed it and his parents and the servants and guards who didn’t care enough to even  _ pretend  _ to care about him. Most of all, he missed the safety and security the Manor had ensured.    
  
As the sky continued to bleed tears from above, Draco couldn’t help but wonder if his family missed him as well. He liked to think that they did miss him and that they were waiting every day for his return. And perhaps the only reason why they hadn’t contacted him once since he’d left the Manor was that they finally realized their wrongdoings and wanted him to be as free as he wanted. Perhaps he could come back one day when he missed them enough.   
  
He shot up, hurrying to wipe the tears in his eyes, and caught sight of the tattoo he’d got in memory of his now-estranged mother, wondering if she even thought about him still.   
  
Draco growled when more tears pooled up and gave up on scrubbing them off. He settled on glaring out the window instead, blaming the rain for all of his woes.   
  
“Fuck this,” he muttered, pushing away the covers from his body and getting off the bed.   
  
It was time to face his fears.   
  
He slipped on the shoes he’d left by his bedroom door and stomped towards Granger’s room.   
  
When he opened the door, she didn’t look surprised and only raised an inquisitive brow from her book as he barged inside.   
  
“What now?” she simply asked, looking back at her book in an attempt to ignore his presence.   
  
She still loved pretending she had no emotions even after Draco had seen most of them. Maybe she thought it would drive him away as it had done before, but he knew better now.   
  
He snatched the book away from her face and recklessly threw it in a vague direction. “Let’s go outside.”   
  
She glared at him, pushing away the hand he’d offered her. “What the fuck, Malfoy? That was a signed edition, you know! I swear to God if you ruined the book, I’m going to—”   
  
“I said, let’s go outside.” Draco took her hand and pulled her out of her bed, chuckling slightly when she landed on her bum with an outraged gasp.   
  
“You’re such a bloody prat,” she huffed as she stood up. “And why the hell would you want to go outside? The streets are probably flooded!”   
  
He shrugged and began to pull her along with him as he intended to go outside. “I don’t care.”   
  
She took her hand from his hold but followed him with slow reluctant steps through the flat, the hallway, and the lift until they were outside the building.   
  
Draco needed to take a deep breath before he stepped out into the pouring rain, trying to let go of the apprehension that now felt bigger than everything else. He shivered when the first raindrops landed on his skin. The rain felt like ice on his flesh, like little shards of crystals that wished to pierce through his epidermis.   
  
It took at least forty seconds for his fear of the impending doom that he thought was accompanied by rain to dissipate. He waited until the rain felt like a second skin before he looked up and grinned at the pouring sky.   
  
“What’s going on with you, Draco?”   
  
The only warning he’d given her was the mischievous glint in his eyes before he took hold of her arms and pulled her out in the rain with him, letting out a laugh when she shouted in surprise.   
  
“Doesn’t it feel amazing?” he screamed, battling with the sounds of the rain.   
  
“No! It really doesn’t!” she yelled in response, but he knew she meant otherwise when she chose to stay.    
  
In the pouring rain.    
  
_ With him. _   
  
The thought made him want to do more impulsive and crazy shit.   
  
He pulled her closer to him, clasping her hand and holding her waist. She looked up at him, taken aback by the sudden change in their position, but decided to take after him and place her free hand on his shoulder. Then, he began to move his feet in the familiar steps of basic waltz.   
  
She laughed when she realized what he was doing and slipped into the rhythm easily. He rewarded her with a twirl when the smile on her face was simply too big to ignore. And they continued to dance like that for a few minutes, ignoring their brains trying to tell them how stupid it was to do this in the rain.   
  
Instead, Draco chose to focus on how breathtaking she looked before him. Her hair was pressed down by the dripping water, raindrops mimicked tears as they slid down her face, and the pure happiness present in her glittering eyes and bedazzling smile made the strange fluttering in his stomach appear again—this time, the feeling was much more intense and real.   
  
He was so entranced by her precious face that he didn’t even feel their steps slowing down to a complete halt. It didn’t take long at all before they were merely existing in front of each other, attempting to trap themselves in the other’s eyes and letting their hearts beat the same song whilst the rain made a Van Gogh painting of their still figures.   
  
As he gazed upon her beaming face, Draco could now fully understand how someone could love downpours, storms, and cloudbursts. From Hermione’s exquisite face and the streaks of wet drops constantly sketching across her expression, he could now see the beauty of it all, of her and the rain.   
  
“You’re beautiful,” he couldn’t help but whisper, his eyes somehow never blinking to take in her sheer preciousness without missing a single moment.   
  
At his words, the smile on Hermione’s face grew into a full-blown grin that made his heart stutter, breathing out a soft chuckle and leaning in. She rubbed their noses together, smile never waning, before shutting her eyes and slightly tilting her head to the side to prepare for a kiss—a kiss he couldn’t give her. Not yet. Not now. Not when their friendship was still as fragile as fine china.   
  
Draco reluctantly pulled away from her, swallowing the regret that already began to consume him. “We should head inside.”   
  
He watched as realization kicked in her face, causing her to open her eyes again and to back away from him. He didn’t miss the hurt that momentarily flashed in her gleaming brown eyes, forcing himself to remember it for the rest of his life. Guilt-tinged regret began to fill his veins, and he physically winced at the sight of her flushing the barely-there emotion on her face and schooling her expression into an emotionless one—something he never wanted to see again on her.   
  
“Yeah, we better go before we catch a cold or something,” she drawled lazily, not even looking at him once she turned around and stomped off towards the flat building.   
  
There was nothing left for him to do but sigh and inwardly shout in frustration as he watched her walk away, realizing that today marked another almost-kiss that they had to ignore.   
  
“Fuck!” he exclaimed once she was out of sight, tugging at his hair strands.    
  
This was exactly why he hated rainy days so much.   
  


* * *

  
“I don’t know why you’re so attached to these kids’ shows,” Granger mentioned, glaring at the telly. She sat beside him on the couch, legs crossed at the ankles, her phone lying flat on the pillow on her lap. “Everything about them just screams unrealistic—they must be created for doltish individuals who can’t get out of the inane imaginary worlds in their heads, but I suppose that perfectly describes children.”   
  
This was a subject they’d argued about many times now. Granger thought she was above animation, constantly arguing that books and traditional forms of media were better, and Draco always disagreed.    
  
It was one of the surprising things he’d found out about Granger—she had this annoying holier-than-thou attitude about things that didn’t conform to her opinions. Originally, he’d thought she never cared enough to dislike or like anything.   
  
“Your hatred of animation never ceases to amuse me,” he drawled, rolling his eyes. Unlike her, he sat on the couch with his feet up on the table, taking up much space as he could. “Not every animated series or film is catered to children, you know?”   
  
As though on perfect timing, the film chose that exact moment to be the right time to tell the most immature joke ever—a fucking fart reference, of all things.   
  
At this, Granger’s lips slightly curved up into a smirk, her brow raising in question. “Really?”   
  
“Yes,” he insisted, throwing a frustrated scowl at her. “I don’t care if you don’t like it, Granger.”   
  
Granger didn’t say anything about that for a short while, and he just smugly assumed he won that debate. When she did speak again, it didn’t have anything to do with their prior conversation. “You don’t have to keep calling me that, you know.”   
  
Confused, he turned towards her, but her eyes were fixated on her phone screen. “Calling you what?”   
  
“By my surname,” she elaborated, grimacing.    
  
“You call me by my last name all the time,” he points out, not knowing why it was suddenly such a big deal for her.   
  
She shrugged, her thumb scrolling mindlessly on her phone. “Maybe we should stop then.”   
  
“Okay.” Draco blinked, rehearsing the syllables of her first name in his head before voicing it out loud. “Hermione.”   
  
Her head snapped towards him, eyes wide and cheeks red. He would’ve considered it an adorable sight if he wasn’t so confused. “Well, don’t say it like that!”   
  
What the hell was up with her today?   
  
“Huh?” He wasn’t one to call people out for their insanity, but he felt like he had the right to proclaim Gran— _ Hermione _ as fucking crazy tonight. Was it because of the leftover exhaustion from an unusually busy shift? No, that couldn’t be the case. Normally, even when tired, she always strived to remain as unfeeling as she could be around him. But of course, he was an irresistible celestial being that most mortals, including Hermione, typically fawn over, laugh, and be happy with, so her attempts at maintaining a stoic expression whilst with him was futile at best, and—   
  
“Draco,” she softly said, cutting his thoughts and overall brain off. She'd called him by his name before, but somehow, the way she said it just now felt much more intimate than they were willing to admit. Accompanied by her wide glittering brown eyes and blushing cheeks, the mere dropping of his first name from her lips left him utterly... gobsmacked   
  
‘ _ Oh. _ ’   
  
He understood what she’d meant now.   
  
She let out this sweet tiny smile at his lack of reply, and he’d be lying if he said that small gesture didn’t make his chest burst out affectionate emotions. He gulped, now realizing that he was staring at her mouth in a way that most wouldn’t classify as friendly by any means, seemingly too powerless to look away.   
  
Before anything could  _ almost  _ happen again, Hermione leaned back and turned her gaze back to her lap, clearing her throat as though it would help clear out the tension in the air. “So.”   
  
“So,” he repeated absent-mindedly, eyes still stuck on her face.   
  
She glanced at him, a slight frown settling on her mouth as her eyes moved to his head and lingered there for quite an uncomfortable time. He was about to touch his hair to see if there was something stuck in there that kept her so distracted when she finally explained herself, “Your blond hair is showing again.”   
  
He didn’t stop her hand from touching his hair. “I don’t really have time to get another dye.”   
  
“I think you look better blond.” There it was again; that gentle, adorable smile curved on her lips, threatening to turn him into a helpless goo. “I like seeing the real you.”   
  
At her last words, Draco’s world stopped spinning.   
  
‘ _ The real me. The real me. The real me. _ ’   
  
It was strange to realize that she, someone who he’d only befriended a few weeks ago, seemed to know better about whom he truly was than himself. It was very odd and quite insulting if he were to be honest.   
  
Draco grabbed her wrist and dropped it back on her lap before he looked back at the telly, masking the discomfort within him.    
  
“Me too,” he simply said, still unable to pinpoint what the real him entailed.   
  
If Granger sensed a sudden change in him, he wouldn’t know, for she didn’t say anything about his strange response. That was something he liked about her—she never pushed him into revealing his deepest and darkest secrets. He suspected it had something to do with the fact that she also had a few skeletons in her own closet that she didn’t particularly enjoy sharing with anyone else either.   
  
It was true that they’d been spending a lot of time with each other nowadays. It was true that they were closer now than they’d ever been before. They were clearly friends now—depending on the occasion, Draco even saw her as a best friend—but there had always been an unspoken agreement that came with their unlikely friendship; an agreement which stated that they must never speak of their respective pasts, and both of them respected that.    
  
They both had untold complicated webs of stories, but that was okay. Maybe it wasn’t the right time to tell those stories. Maybe they were both extremely emotionally-incompetent people who didn’t have the slightest clue on how to express themselves. All he knew was, their relationship didn’t rely on things that happened before they even lived with each other. It relied on his and Hermione’s willingness to spend time with each other, and for now, that was enough.   
  
A surprised squeal from his left took him out of his thoughts, and his head instantly snapped towards Hermione, intending to check if she was alright. She also turned back to him, and that was when he saw the biggest, most heart-warming smile that decorated and lightened up her entire face.   
  
God, she was so pretty.   
  
“One of my favourite book series is going to be adapted into a T.V. show!” she exclaimed, pure excitement turning her eyes into sparkling pools of honey. “Oh, you have to read the books, Draco! I need someone to watch the series with when it comes!”   
  
“What is it about?”   
  
She explained away, telling him even the smallest details of the plot. He loved it whenever Hermione went into this story-telling mode. Her face brightened up, her lips prattled away, and she would get this glint in her eyes that spoke of her passion for whatever shit she was babbling about.   
  
Draco didn’t even listen to her story, didn’t even need to know what the books were all about. In the end, it was the utter delight he found in Hermione’s expression whilst she told the story that ultimately sold him.    
  
It was crazy to think how much she could make him do with the slightest of smiles, but the thought didn’t even terrify him anymore. He was, in fact, insane enough to admit that he would willingly do anything for her if it meant she would smile at him that way again.   
  


* * *

  
“You’re embarrassing yourself,” blurted out Hermione from behind him, her snooty tone implicating a desire to insult him, but her amused expression suggesting the opposite.    
  
The words rang familiar in his ears, and he recognized them as the first words she’d ever said to him in a nightclub during a time when he’d been so desperate to belong and to be himself, during a time when he’d resented her and what she’d symbolized to him.   
  
Now, he felt like she was the most important person in his life.   
  
Still, he frowned at her demeaning words, carefully examining his appearance in the mirror.    
  
Okay. Maybe she was right—the white dress he’d somehow managed to fit into looked utterly ridiculous on him, and it emphasized too much on his less-than-flattering features! And the wings looked too bloody small for him!   
  
“This is your fault,” he grumbled to his lovely flatmate, pulling at the straps of the dress to begin stripping.    
  
When she’d first told him that they were attending a Halloween party—hosted by a bubbly young woman in her mid-20s from their book club—she had already bought the costume for the two of them. Originally, she was supposed to dress up as an angel and wear the white dress he was still struggling to get out of, and he was supposed to be the devil. However, Draco had been absolutely—and rightfully so—miffed, telling Granger he was the innocent one out of the both of them. She had scoffed and rolled her eyes but agreed to switch costumes, not letting him know that they weren’t going to literally trade costumes and that she’d already bought a second pair—one where he was the angel, only without the skimpy dress, and she as the sweet incarnation of evil herself.   
  
When he turned around after managing to kick the white dress off his body, the sinfully sexy image of Hermione in a red off-shoulder evening gown with a tempting slit that bared the length of her smooth right leg turned him completely brain-dead and paralysed. On top of her brown curls was an elongated black pair of horns. The black wings that decorated her back looked unfairly-real, as did the life-sized trident she held in her right hand.   
  
“It’s impolite to gawk, you know,” she commented, a hand covering her giggle. Before the hand covered her face, he swore he saw her cheeks blush a pretty pink. “And you’ve been standing there almost naked for far too long.”   
  
Embarrassed, he looked away, remembering that he was still only in his underpants. “Where’s  _ my  _ costume?”   
  
“There.” She pointed at his bed where he saw a boring white robe, accentuated by gold trimmings and accompanied by huge pair of white wings. The entire ensemble looked like something the bloody pope would wear to the holiest Halloween party or something!   
  
“What the hell?” he exclaimed, feeling a pout coming on. “You get to look like _ that _ while I dress like I’m about to attend my next sermon?”   
  
She shrugged, bringing his eyes to the bare skin of her tantalizing shoulders, distracting him for a short minute. “You said you wanted to be the angel.” Then, she grinned. “Besides, it suits your white-blond hair.”   
  
Draco groaned, throwing his hands in defeat. “Can’t I just wear a pair of white trousers and throw on the wings or something?”   
  
“That’s not historically accurate.”   
  
“Yeah? Where in the Bible did they mention Satan wearing silk with his bloody leg showing, huh? Tell me!”    
  
Hermione had the audacity to purse her lips and roll her eyes. “The dress was a gift from my dad, and I love silk—just do whatever you want!”   
  
At that, Draco smiled a smile more evil than the devil-pretending woman before him. Suddenly interested in giving her the greatest surprise of her life, he ushered her out of his room. Once he slammed the door closed, he grabbed old clothes from a suitcase he’d nearly forgotten he had and quickly yanked them on, always careful not to create any tears or holes. He might loathe his upbringing with a passion, but the suit was still custom-tailored by Ermenegildo Zegna and was probably more expensive than all the furniture of their flat combined.    
  
Shrugging the wings on his shoulders, he dashed for the door and immediately met Granger’s eyes.   
  
A satisfied smile was set upon her lips as she carefully scrutinized his choice of clothing, and he exhaled a relieved breath as soon as she was done with her appraisal of him. He wasn’t sure why, but he loved himself a little more after Hermione showed her approval of his person. The way her brown eyes lingered on the tight fit between his legs gave him enough confidence to last him at least three years.   
  
“Where did you get this joint?” she questioned, referring to the all-white suit he’d chosen to wear.    
  
For tonight, he’d decided not to draw attention to himself, feeling as though he wouldn’t deserve the attention when Hermione was going to be right there beside him, devilishly gorgeous, and opted for an outfit that would just let him disappear into the background.   
  
“Coincidentally, it was also a gift from my own father,” he replied, walking towards her. “I hate it. White makes me feel ugly, but if we’re going to wear a couple’s costume, we might as well do it better than everyone else”   
  
She beamed up at him, standing up to meet him. “I disagree. I think you make a very handsome angel in white tonight.”   
  
He looked down at her, grinning widely when he saw sincerity in her gaze. “And I think you look as sinfully alluring as a succubus.” They shared a quiet laugh before Draco offered an arm for her to take. “Shall we?”   
  
Hermione nodded and placed a hand on his arm. “Yes, please.”   
  


* * *

**  
** The words on the low-lit screen of his phone haunted him, leaving a rare kind of pain in his chest that continued to reverberate across his entire body. He tried not to let the tears build up in his eyes, tried to push them back, to get rid of every evidence of his hurt.  
  
“ _Happy Christmas, my dragon. I wish you the best in all your future endeavours,_ ” the text message from his mother—the same woman who he thought would’ve shunned and disowned him by now—read. It was the first thing he’d ever got from her ever since he left the Manor. He did not have any idea how she got his phone number, but he knew it was no prank, having memorized both his mother’s and father’s many cellphone numbers as part of his many abandoned responsibilities and duties.  
  
Funnily enough, the message was enough to make him feel a little better. He felt like cherishing it, keeping it close to his heart, for the message was the first sign of affection given to him by his family in so long. It was the only thing that suggested the fact that his parents still cared about him, that regardless of his father’s avoidance of his very existence in the news or his mother’s lack of reaction regarding his rebellion, they still loved and missed him as much as he did them.  
  
There were no proclamations of motherly love in Narcissa Malfoy’s text message, no word at all that even indicated his mother’s wishes for him to return home, but Draco willingly took what he could get. Even though it was nothing but a simple and polite Christmas greeting that a normal person would say to a mere acquaintance, Draco accepted the message as proof of his parents’ love and understanding.  
  
Small drops of the tears he was trying to hold back dripped on the screen of his phone, distorting the screenshot he’d taken of his mother’s message. He forced shut his eyes and tried to hold back incoming warm liquids of emotion.  
  
Although he was gladdened by the surprise text, a big part of him still craved for something with a clear message. His mother wished him the best for all his future endeavours—did she mean they were letting him run around a strange town and practically humiliate the Malfoy name because they understood? Or was it truly just a polite, practised, and polished message that her assistant had probably typed in for his mother?  
  
A knock on his bedroom door sounded, hindering him from further contemplating and perhaps seeking answers to his unanswered questions.  
  
Draco cleared his throat as he tossed his phone away somewhere Hermione wouldn’t notice, ensuring that no trace of his tears could be seen. “Come in.”  
  
She entered, approaching him with hesitant steps. “You’ve been locked in here for quite a while.”  
  
It was true. He’d stayed in his room ever since he’d received the text from his mother at 6:30 in the morning, and from what he could see outside his window, dusk was beginning to paint across the skies. He hadn’t even eaten all day and couldn’t be bothered to notice.  
  
“Just dealing with a few personal issues,” he said, tightly smiling up at her.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
Draco shortly thought about it. Perhaps it wasn’t such a terrible idea for him to talk about his feelings, just this once. Coming to a decision, he took a long, deep breath before speaking again. “This morning, I received a text message from my mother.”  
  
“What did she say?”  
  
“Nothing much. Just a short Christmas message.” He shrugged, all of a sudden feeling ashamed to have felt such strong emotion for a simple holiday greeting. “I know I’m kind of making a big deal about it, but I—”  
  
“It’s the first thing you’ve seen or heard from your parents in months,” she interrupted flatly. “Don’t belittle your feelings.”  
  
He nodded, thinking how strange it was to hear those words of advice from her—the queen of stoicism and appearing emotionless—but silently thanked her for it anyway, an unexplainable calm washing over him in response to her validating response. “The same could be said to you, you know.”  
  
She stiffened, and for a few tense seconds, he thought she was about to close off on him and leave him confused again, but she released a sigh that he knew to be full of burden and sat next to him on his bed. “I know.”  
  
“What’s up with you?”  
  
“Parents,” she answered, her entire face blank—save for her exhausted eyes that seemed to speak a different language of emotions. “They’ve been sending me all kinds of gifts ever since I moved out and began ignoring them, but they stopped a few weeks ago. Earlier, I received an e-mail from my dad. Needless to say, I think they found out I’m not attending university anymore and want me to go back home.”  
  
A stab of envy pierced his heart at her words, and he wished his parents would explicitly tell him that they wanted him to return as well. “What’s wrong with that?”  
  
“I don’t want to go home,” she told him, facing him with those honest brown eyes that seemingly gleamed in the light of the rising moon and stars. “I have no one there, and I realized that being in that mansion, alone all the time, turned me into this unlikeable person that no one wants to be around with.” Tragic tears lightened up her soft gaze, and he wondered just how much loneliness she had gone through in the entirety of her life. “I’m better off without them, and I know I’m becoming a better person here, in this mediocre town and mediocre flat— _with you._ ”  
  
Draco didn’t fail to recognize the way her words made him feel like a better person himself, but he tried not to put a deeper meaning to the way his heart beat in a foreign spastic manner for her, or the way he felt a need to protect her when he first caught a glimpse of her tears, or the way his arms automatically went around her smaller frame after she finished speaking, their bodies meeting in an invigorating, warm embrace.   
  
But it didn’t feel enough. Simply gathering her into his arms made him feel like he was on the brink of wholeness, but it was not yet enough to truly make him complete. Perhaps there was something else he could do to get rid of the lurking emptiness inside him and to truly feel whole.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she cried out in a sob, her hands clutching him as if he was her lifeline. “I came in here to check on _you,_ and now, I’m the one who’s crying.”  
  
He didn’t bother consoling her with meaningless reassurances, didn’t bother with focusing on their numerous personal problems. Instead, he decided to take matters into his own hands and did something that had been a long time coming.  
  
All he did was take her face into his hands and pulled her in for a kiss, hoping his lips would be enough comfort to get rid of the tears pouring out of her eyes, and if not, perhaps the kiss would serve as a great distraction from his own pain.  
  
He just kissed her, and the feeling that came with their lips meeting filled a hole in his heart he hadn’t even known existed before now.  
  
He felt a little gasp coming from her mouth, and for a quick terrifying moment, he thought she would pull away from him, slap him across the face, and leave him alone on a melancholic Christmas night. But she didn’t. She kissed him back, a hand of hers gripping the back of his neck, and it was so sweet. _She_ was so sweet.  
  
God, he prayed for this moment to be endless. Hermione’s lips felt too much like heaven for him to give up, and so with a hand, he pressed her face closer to his.   
  
Kissing her didn’t include insipid clichéd experiences like sparks going off his body, or fireworks behind his lids, or explosions in his chest. That was not to say the kiss wasn’t a life-changing experience, for it was. It truly was.  
  
Draco let out a moan when he felt her tongue boldly swipe at his lips and let her in immediately, greedy to have all of her.   
  
Instead of adrenaline-like emotions, kissing Hermione Granger brought a new kind of serenity within him. Their tongues battled, teeth clashed, and lips meshed—but it felt like the furthest thing from a war zone. Kissing her made him feel as though he was lying on clouds, afloat and worry-free without anything weighing him down.  
  
Perhaps he’d been wrong all this time. Perhaps she _was_ an angel all along, brought down from heaven to wash out the negativities that stirred inside him. With her kiss, Draco didn’t weaken at all. If anything, he felt more strengthened than ever—like he could take over the world if he wanted to but wouldn’t because Hermione’s lips were more of a home than any place on Earth could be.  
  
He never wanted this to stop.  
  
He put his hands on Hermione’s hips, shifting their position until she was sitting on his lap, and she thankfully wrapped her legs around him, pressing their bodies even closer.   
  
Their mouths maintained a passionate dance, tongues and lips refusing to halt until they were both sated. Inwardly, however, Draco feared he would never reach complete satisfaction, never tire of her, and frankly, he didn’t want to. If he could, he’d never part his lips from her skin again.  
  
But they were still both imperfect human beings who had a never-ending need to take in some air, to breathe. He’d give anything if he could just choose to breathe in Hermione’s scent—the summery fragrance of her hair, her skin, and the sweet tang of her breath. God, what a dream.  
  
Draco stared deep into her eyes and almost got lost in the depths of the unadulterated need swirling along her pupils. Before he could allow himself to drown in her gaze, Hermione captured his lips again, showing him how much she wanted this—how much she wanted him.  
  
He didn’t hesitate in kissing her back, moving his lips against hers. After that, he vowed to never hesitate in anything that concerned her ever again.  
  
Her hands made their way under his shirt, her palms running over the bare skin of his chest. He couldn’t help but groan when her nimble fingers grazed his nipples and decided he wanted her to feel the same pleasure he just did, palming her breasts through her jumper and relishing in the breathy moan she gave him as a response. Her nipples hardened through the cloth, and he almost died right there, realizing she didn’t have her bra on.  
  
Hermione impatiently tugged on his shirt, silently demanding he took it off, and who was he to deny her of her request? Regrettably, he wrenched away from her lips and pulled up his worn shirt. He watched as she bit her lower lip, eyes appreciating his shirtless form before they snapped back to his face with an alluring smirk. At first, he was confused, but when her hands moved to the hem of her jumper and pulled the thing off, all he could say was—  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
Stuck in a lusty daze at the sight of her, he groaned when her brown nipples seemingly wink at him, teasing and threatening to make an unhinged man out of him. It didn’t take long before Hermione grabbed his hands to make him feel the delectable weight of her breasts.  
  
“Draco,” she moaned as soon as his palms brushed against her nipples, and he immediately took action, gently squeezing her breasts. He let his hands do the work for a few minutes, fingers toying with her hardened peaks, before he dove in with his mouth. “Yes, Draco.”  
  
He dutifully sucked on her nipples, taking turns on the left and the right, even letting his teeth graze the very tip before he delivered several kisses around it. Hermione didn’t disappoint with her reactions—moaning, whimpering, begging, grinding her hips against his crotch.   
  
She did nothing but successfully cause his blood to rush south and push him closer to a sweet orgasmic death.  
  
Using her hand on his hair, Hermione pulled his head away from her chest, only to plant her lips back on his again. He moaned at the contact and moaned even louder when a hand of hers travelled down and under his trousers, stroking his erection through his underpants. Aching to have skin-on-skin contact, he fumbled with unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers, pulling them down enough for his cock to be released.   
  
Hermione pushed away from him, seemingly eager to get a glimpse of his hardening member. She enticingly licked her lips as she leered at his dick, causing it to twitch under her scrutiny.   
  
All of a sudden, her hand closed in on his manhood, forcing a grunt from his lips, and proceeded to pump him in a languid, teasing manner. Draco growled impatiently when she continued her slow stroking even after his landed on her wrist. “Faster, Hermione. Grip me tighter.”  
  
Her eyes brightened at his command, but instead of doing what he’d asked, she released her hold on him and pushed herself off on his lap. Before he could question her, she leaned down slowly and painfully until she was eye-to-eye with his cock. Then, her tongue flicked out to get a taste of him, slightly hesitating before her mouth swallowed him whole.  
  
It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen—Hermione fucking Granger’s head on his lap, bopping up and down, her curls sprawled about below him, as she sucked the life out of him. Draco swallowed, trying to get a grip and prolong the experience.  
  
But then, her fingers began to cup his balls, igniting a fire of desire within him, and he just had to pull her sinful mouth away. He didn’t want to waste this night coming in Hermione Granger’s mouth, no matter how fucking divine it sounded.  
  
As soon as she was in front of him again, sitting with a dazed smile on her face, a red flush spread across her cheeks down to her neck, Draco kissed her again to thank her, to appreciate her, to tell her how fucking good she was being. He assaulted her mouth in the best meaning of the word, sucking on her lips, nipping at her tongue, and letting his own tongue explore the depths of her mouth.  
  
After he decided he’d thanked her enough, he shoved his right hand under her skirt, suddenly grateful for Granger’s aversion to trousers. Biting back a pained groan, Draco swore he just about died when he cupped her heated sex and felt her wetness coating his long fingers. He didn’t bother pulling down her knickers, settling for pushing them aside so that his fingers could feel the bare skin of her dripping slit.   
  
Smugly grinning against her lips, he felt her shiver as his index finger lightly stroked her clit. Draco couldn’t help but tease her for a little while, very lightly running his fingers across her pulsating entrance, but it didn’t take long before he got on with and pleasured her the way she deserved, a finger diving into her wet heat as his thumb rubbed a consistent pattern on her clit.  
  
“Oh fuck, yes!” she cried out, distracted enough to pull away from their kiss.   
  
He moved his finger inside her slowly, inwardly groaning at the feel of the hot walls of her cunt and never stopping his thumb from rubbing and flicking her clit. A gush of wetness escaped her already-sopping lips when he curled his finger in a way that made her scream. He added another finger inside, pinched her clit with his other hand, and watched in delighted awe as she came undone before him.  
  
Hermione looked even more beautiful as she orgasmed and bucked against his fingers. Her eyes were screwed shut, her mouth was opened in a helpless cry, and her hands gripped his still-moving wrist as though she never wanted his fingers out of her. Watching her chase her breath, Draco took a minute to scold himself for ever thinking that she was a passionless robot. He was clearly wrong.   
  
Draco couldn’t help but kiss her again, feeling as though he was stuck in a post-orgasmic high himself just from watching her. When their mouths met again, she whimpered, shivering beneath his touch and kiss before her hand moved to grab his cock. In a loose grip, she pumped his erection rapidly until a groan vibrated on her lips from his throat. Her hips continued to thrust against his fingers, a non-verbal way to beg him for the one blissful thing that they hadn’t done yet.  
  
Catching her meaning, he slid his fingers out of her—keeping her knickers to the side with his other hand—and put them around his cock, on top of Hermione’s hands. They stroked his aching manhood together, and he used the sticky remains of her arousal on his fingers as some sort of lubrication.   
  
He brought her closer, practically on his lap again, and groaned as he felt her slit brush against his weeping cock. He rubbed his tip against her enlarged clit for a few moments, mentally readying himself for the pleasure that was about to come before finally letting himself slip inside her.  
  
Hermione parted from their kiss and rested her head on his shoulder, moaning as he filled her to the hilt. When he didn’t move for a moment to savour the moment, she got impatient and began desperately slamming her hips against him. Murmuring a soft apology, he also started moving, gripping her hips and pulling her down on his cock repeatedly in a fast-paced rhythm.   
  
Hermione Granger was one loud woman in bed, he realized. As he roughly rutted against her, she released these sounds that were pure ecstasy in his ears. She called for numerous deities, swore sexy foreign words, and chanted his first name over and over like some sort of forbidden prayer.  
  
“Shit, Draco,” she breathed into his ear after a rather striking thrust, her hands clawing at his back. “More, more, more. Please! Oh, god! Draco! Fuck!”  
  
He couldn’t fathom how she could still manage to cry out these semi-coherent words in the throes of pleasure. All he could come up with were animalistic groans and unintelligible shouts, but he was too far gone to care, too deep in her to give a fuck.  
  
And when he felt as though he couldn’t make sounds any longer, his mouth settled for leaving marks on her shoulder, biting her flesh and savouring the taste of her skin. His balls began to tighten after he felt her walls clamp down around his cock in another orgasm, and all he could do was let out a raspy shout as he emptied himself inside her, his mind too tired to think of the consequences.  
  
Draco kissed her again after recovering from the most earth-shattering orgasm of his life and carefully lay down on his bed, pulling her on top of him. Only a few quiet minutes passed before Hermione fell into a deep slumber, but he found himself unable to sleep as easily as she did. He was far too busy dwelling over how amazing it was to be with Hermione intimately, the giddy emotions in his chest far too overwhelming for him to ignore.   
  
‘ _I slept with Hermione Granger._ ’ The thought made him grin in a foolish manner. Except it wasn’t just sleeping with her—or at least, to him, it hadn’t felt like he’d merely slept with her. He felt like the word was too weak to perfectly capture the mind-blowing sex he’d just had.   
  
Compared to all his other intimate experiences before, sex with Hermione definitely felt different. It wasn’t just a quick fuck, it wasn’t just something that happened in the heat of the moment, and it certainly wasn’t the same carnal desires he’d felt before.  
  
He wasn’t certain what it was yet, but something about Hermione made sex feel much more than scratching an itch or easing frustrations. With her, everything felt nicer, better, and even heavenly. He felt like a changed man after their encounter, like a better man than he could ever dream of. With her, he felt like he didn’t need to try so hard anymore. It was like all he’d needed to do was give in to the intense desire flowing in between them and simply get lost in the sublime pleasure that only she could provide him.  
  
It was all confusing at the moment, but he was sure they would talk it over in the morning. He was sure he would never have to give this—whatever this feeling he always felt around Hermione—up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I outlined the plot of this story while listening to the Channel Orange album by Frank Ocean! I got the whole theme of 'struggling rich kids' from the song Super Rich Kids. Also, the title means "the sweet life" which is close to another song of Frank Ocean's lol. 
> 
> highlyintelligentblonde is god-sent. thank you again!


	5. Emotional Shifts

“Good morning!” Draco greeted, an unstoppable grin gracing his lips as he held out the cup of tea he’d made for Hermione. He had been cooking her breakfast and making her tea every morning since their night together, since she’d left him in his bed to wake up cold, alone, and without her.   
  
And ever since that night, Hermione had been doing the exact same thing she was doing at the moment; she frowned at him, glared at the cup in his hand before turning away entirely, and stomped off in the opposite direction.   
  
Draco watched her leave with a sigh, placing the cup of tea on the table. He was so sick of watching her walk away from him. It hurt every single time she did it, and he didn’t know if he was only being dramatic, but sometimes, it truly felt like she was beginning to kill him.   
  
Truth be told, when he’d fallen asleep that night, his arms around Hermione’s delectable figure, he’d dreamt of romantic happily-ever-afters. Foolishly, he’d thought that everything would be alright with them, and he’d have a chance to be with her in all meanings of the word. He wasn’t quite sure where he got the idea from, but it had been so easy to simply imagine an ending where he ended up with Hermione, and regardless of the current circumstance, he had no doubt in his mind that being with her would feel as right as breathing.   
  
But it seemed as though Hermione did not feel the same.    
  
The first time Draco ever felt the weakening aches of a broken heart was when he’d woken up the morning after Christmas night. He’d sat up on his bed, sheets covering his lower half, lonely and cold in more ways than one. At that moment, he’d realized perhaps not all kinds of love were reciprocated, and every day, Hermione kept proving him right.    
  
He would often do these actions that signified the affection he felt for her, but she didn’t seem to care. She’d always ignore his attempts to talk to her about that night, about the unexpected shift in their relationship, and about the undeniable pink petals of devotion he felt towards her.    
  
She also ignored him at work, only speaking to him when absolutely necessary. When they got home, she refused to come out of her room, and unlike before, he respected her decision to be alone; he respected her decision not to waste time with him, not to make eye contact with him, and not to be with him.   
  
Why?    
  
Because, at last, he was beginning to understand that the reciprocation of feelings in a rather complicated relationship wasn’t always guaranteed.    
  
Admittedly, he was stupid to think his imagined happy endings with Granger would come true. She probably never cared about him at all, only tolerating him because he was quite literally the only person who wanted to be in her vicinity. Although he hadn’t yet accepted the high possibility of Hermione never liking him back, Draco was, slowly but surely, preparing himself to face the truth, and he knew that someday—obviously not today or in the near future—he’d be able to look her in the eye and not expect affection to burst out of her pupils.    
  
By then, would he still blame himself?   
  
Well, of course, he would. Everything was his fault, anyway. He’d been the one who insisted to constantly be in her presence, and now, he supposed he was facing the consequences of his actions.   
  
He never should have kissed her in the first place, never should’ve stripped down, bared his heart and soul, touched her, and made love to her. Now, his greatest fear had come true. Their friendship was now severed because of the stupid uncontrollable emotions he shouldn’t have felt in the first place!    
  
If only he hadn’t let her in that night, if only he hadn’t started thinking of her skin as heaven, if only her lips hadn’t made him complete, if only his fucking cock hadn’t made a home out of her heated flesh—then maybe everything would remain the same. They could still be hosting their weekly book club discussions, and she could still smile at him in that way he liked so much—and maybe, just maybe, she could actually like him back.   
  
Oh, who was he fucking kidding? She couldn’t even accept the cups of tea he’d made for her! Clearly, she’d realized how terrible of a person he was and decided to finally distance herself from him. Or maybe she’d realized he was being a bad influence on her. Maybe he was a worthless human being who had too much emotional baggage, and she’d realized she wanted her hands clean from his many issues.   
  
Well, if that was indeed the case, who the sodding hell was Hermione Granger to think that? She was the emotionally unstable one! He couldn’t even fully figure out whether she was a humanoid robot programmed to make his life a living hell or just an ordinary person who suddenly, in a couple of months, became the most important person in his God-awful life!   
  
Draco slammed a fist on the table, confusion and aggravation intertwining inside him and making for the perfect recipe to result in emotional disasters.   
  
He stood up, heading towards the bathroom to have a shower that would hopefully cool his head before he went to work. After all, there was no way he could ever show Hermione how affected he was by her lack of… everything towards him.   
  
Before he could step into the bathroom, however, a knock came to the entrance door of their flat. Confused as to who would visit this early in the morning, Draco stalked towards the door, twisted the knob before pulling it open, and saw the last person he would’ve ever expected to be in this town—let alone in his sodding front door!   
  
Lucius Malfoy in the flesh stood stiffly before him, dressed in formal attire, his serpentine cane in his hand. Vaguely, Draco observed that two bodyguards were accompanying his father, but that fact quickly went over his head as he became aware of his father silently judging his appearance.   
  
First, he’d received a text from his mum. Second, he’d had sex with Hermione—and now, his fucking father was standing on his shitty flat’s doorstep.   
  
What an eventful week, he thought.   
  
Mentally estimating the months that passed since he’d left the Manor, Draco found it had taken quite a while before his father pinpointed his location and visited him. He’d expected it would only take a couple of weeks before Lucius Malfoy hunted him down, but he was almost a hundred per cent certain that the delay had nothing to do with the difficult aspect of tracking him down. Knowing his parents, they had probably figured out where he was a week after he’d moved in with Hermione. What he wanted to know was the reason as to why they had let him roam free, tarnishing the family name and his own reputation, for so long.   
  
And why the hell did they finally decide to acknowledge him on the awkward days between Christmas and New Year’s? If he was to give any credit to his parents, it would be for their innate need for dramatic timing.    
  
He suspected that the message from his mother was some sort of forewarning for his father’s arrival, and at the time, he—like the emotional idiot he was—had foolishly taken it as a sign of his parents’ love.   
  
Still, he didn’t know why his father decided to physically come to his flat. Surely, it wasn’t because he’d wanted to give his son a big, warm hug and an apology, right? Granted, he’d never truly received a hug from his old man ever in his life, but he’d be lying if he said that some part of him didn’t wish for that to be the case.    
  
Noting, once again, his father’s eyes looking him up-and-down in a graceful yet repulsed manner, Draco snapped back to reality.   
  
Crossing his arms over his chest and straightening his posture, he hoped to take after a defensive stance to shield his person from his father’s judgmental gaze and incoming scathing remarks. “What are you doing here?”   
  
Pointedly, his father raised an eyebrow at his rude tone. He knew exactly what his old man was thinking—probably patronizing him in his head, thinking of how appalling it was of him to speak to his elders like that. He was raised properly, taught innumerable etiquette, and yet still gathered enough gall to do something as atrocious as bluntly questioning his father’s visit. “A pleasant morning to you as well, my son.”   
  
He rolled his eyes, ignoring his father’s disapproving tuts at the action. He’d had quite enough of the good manners bullshit when he left, thank you very much. “Just cut to the fucking chase,  _ Dad. _ ”   
  
His father slightly shook his head, a polite frown passing over his face before a rehearsed inviting smile took its place. “May I invite you to a cup of tea, perhaps somewhere that is more... appealing than your home?” Draco did not miss the slight grimace that lingered on his father’s face as his eyes examined the flat from what he could see in his position, probably wondering where the rest of his house was located. “I fear we have important matters to discuss.”   
  
It did not take long before Draco made a decision.  
  


* * *

  
Draco suppressed the urge to smirk at his father’s clear discomfort at his choice of clothes today.    
  
Lucius kept frowning every time he realized that he was being seen in public with his abominable son, and it made him want to laugh maniacally. He was sure the old man regretted his decision to invite him out for brunch now, but to be fair, he had no idea what lengths Draco was willing to go to just to agitate him.    
  
He’d chosen to wear a white lacy blouse which had floral design and sheer sleeves, his arm tattoos on display under the see-through fabric, and he’d also nicked a long black skirt from Granger’s wardrobe. Frankly, if it weren’t for his father’s outraged reaction—he swore he’d almost seen the man go into cardiac arrest—he would’ve worn heels to go with his outfit, but Draco was a noble son who didn’t want his father to suffer through heart failure just from seeing him in traditionally-feminine garb.   
  
“You don’t know how much you disappoint me every day,” his father softly stated, the almost gentle caress of his voice contrasting against the harsh glint in his eyes. It was made to sound similar to a whisper so that others wouldn’t have a chance of hearing his father’s vile truths, but Draco didn’t miss the way his father’s hand tightened around his cup or the way he refused to touch his food even after ten minutes it arrived because of the absolute disgust he felt towards him.   
  
As though the words were some sort of ingredients to make a sobering pill, Draco’s amusement was promptly scared off, and nothing was of laughing matter anymore.    
  
Of course, his father would react badly the very first time he tried to be himself. After all, he’d never been a disappointment in his parents’ eyes when he was being the exact person they wanted him to be. They’d never really told him they were proud of him either. The only things that had let him know of his parents’, at the very least, appreciation for him were the few tiny smiles, quick nods, or the frequent call-outs whenever they were in the public eye.   
  
For someone who had been doing everything right until recently, it hurt to be the one and only disappointment in the family—especially after his father had voiced the words out.   
  
Instead of being vulnerable though, Draco barked out a bitter laugh and pushed his plate away, refusing to eat as well. “I’m glad to know I’m doing well so far.”   
  
“Draco,” his father pleaded in a well-practised tone, his scowl deepening by the minute. “Your mother and I want you to come home. You’ve been away for far too long.”   
  
The words were everything he’d wanted to hear, but Draco knew better, knew that there was always a catch. “The flat I share with Hermione  _ is  _ my home. I never want to be your bloody tool again.”   
  
“Hermione? Hermione Granger?” his father repeated, looking politely-surprised. “I had no knowledge of the Granger heiress’s presence here.”   
  
“Bullshit,” he snarled, from the corner of his eye seeing one of his father’s bodyguards tense. “I know you’ve been following me in the papers for months.”   
  
“If I may—”   
  
“No! Tell me the real reason you’re here!”   
  
He watched as his father’s eyes narrowed before looking around the posh restaurant, making sure others weren’t listening in on their conversation before leaning in and showing him that his father had finally lost his patience. “I am here to demand you come home at once! You’ve been dilly-dallying with insignificant lowlifes with questionable reputations for far too long. You’ve been getting away with disgracing the family name and my reputation with it for far too long. Your mother insisted we ‘let you out of the nest’ for a few more months, to let you come home on your own, but I’m afraid I cannot watch you drag the family's public image through mud any longer. You will stop this childish rebellion this instant, and you will come home with me today.”   
  
“No,” he seethed, leaning in as well and meeting his father’s glare with one of his own. “I will never go back to that hell-hole! I will never let you rule over me again!”   
  
His father let out a sardonic chuckle, the most evil he’d ever heard from him—so evil that Draco had to wonder if Lucius Malfoy was the devil in disguise. He was surely acting like it. “Is this what this is about? Do you truly cherish your independence and freedom so much that you’re willing to put our name in the dirt? Oh, Draco, you’re dumber than I thought.”   
  
“It’s not about going through a bloody phase where I try to accomplish my independence!” Draco roared, standing up abruptly and turning his hands into fists as an attempt to control himself. He noticed the number of people suddenly looking in their direction, but to be honest, he’d lost the care he had about his reputation the day he’d first dyed his hair green. “It’s not because I’m young and stupid and going against you just for the sake of it!”   
  
“Then, what is this about?” his father asked through gritted teeth, gesturing to the guards to take care of the bystanders. “I cannot find it in myself to understand how someone like you—someone borne of old money and privilege and could have anything at their disposal—could choose to live a middle-class life filled with unnecessary hardships and mediocrity at best!   
  
“It’s about me!” he lashed out, angry tears prickling at his eyes. “The reason why I left that stupid bloody mansion is that I realized that I, despite all the things I accomplished under your command, still had no idea who I am! I didn’t know how it’s like to live without my parents constantly breathing down my neck! I realized that who  _ you  _ want me to be is different from whom I actually  _ am _ , and who I am is still a fucking struggle for me to define because I’ve lived most of my life with so little individualistic freedom that I could never truly figure out who the real me was without the money, without the responsibilities, and without constantly having to worry about what everybody else would think of me!”   
  
When he looked at his father for some sort of reaction, he found himself disappointed when Lucius only looked like he was suppressing a yawn. “I have to say I admire your dramatics.”    
  
Draco scoffed, sitting back down in defeat as he averted his gaze. His throat felt scorched and raw, his eyes stung from hot tears, and his fingernails dug into his palms. He just threw everything out in the air, but his father still wouldn’t get it. “I know you wouldn’t understand.”   
  
“Don’t think me a fool, Draco,” his father sneered. Draco tried to convince himself that the pure disgust in his father’s eyes shouldn’t surprise or hurt him anymore, but despite his efforts, it still marred his heart with fresh wounds of familial rejection. “I understand your need to find your true purpose very well, but I’ve made your purpose clear to you several times in your lifetime.”   
  
“But that’s not the real me,” he attempted to persist, swallowing when he realized his voice came out as too vulnerable.   
  
“And this?” His father raised an eyebrow, barely-concealed amusement in his degrading gaze as he gestured to Draco’s form. “Is  _ this  _ the real you? This immature boy in front of me wearing women’s clothes and spouting about his identity issues? Are you telling me  _ that’s  _ the true Draco Malfoy?”   
  
Draco went silent, his father’s words engraving deep into his skin uncomfortably. Staring at his lap, he let his father’s cruel syllables and scathing tone ring in his ear. What was the bloody point?   
  
“Do you know what I think, Draco?” his father continued, his voice as low as a whisper but as piercing as a shrill scream. “I think that this horrendous display in front of me is nothing but a weak attempt at rebelling against your family. You dyed your hair outrageous colours, bought controversial clothing, and did these atrocious things ever since you left Malfoy Manor—and you did all of it just to spite me, to spite us. But you felt so comfortable in this second skin, in this mask, that you began thinking of it as the real you when we both know that even after you ran away, you’re still doing this for your parents. Of course this time, you’re doing it all not to impress us, but instead, to disappoint us.”   
  
Draco scowled at his lap. He tried to be angry, tried to summon the fiery rage he knew to be boiling inside him, but all he could think about was how hard-hitting those words were. Forcibly, he swallowed the cruel words down, wincing at the way they burned against the skin of his throat, and tried to blink the tears away, to take the pain away, but it didn’t work. Nothing ever did.   
  
The words hit hard. More importantly, the words hit home.   
  
His father was right. There, he said it. It hurt to inwardly admit it, but the pain of knowing that he was still trying to be someone he wasn’t after all these months of trying to establish his real self burned to the core.   
  
Who was he, really? Was he the clothes? The hair? The tattoos? The snarky comments? The frequent cursing? Those were the things he’d tried to ingrain in himself in a foolish attempt to be someone that his parents wouldn’t like, but he only now realized that the person he tried to become—the person whose sole intention was to break away from everything that symbolized his old self—still wasn’t the real him. After all this freedom, all those drunken nights, all those bad decisions, he still had no idea who he truly was.   
  
“It’s quite a shame, really, that you’re still as lost now as you were before you left,” his father prattled on. Draco lowered his head even more, waiting for the floor to consume him, for the shame to tear him apart from the inside, for the humiliation to eat him alive. “You are still nothing but a stubborn child who refuses to accept his responsibilities to the family because he has asinine dreams of becoming someone different, someone bigger and more important. The only thing you succeeded at is failing your family and yourself. Congratulations, my son, you’ve finally triumphed in establishing yourself as everyone’s greatest disappointment.”   
  
The additional words felt like a thousand more bullets to make sure he was down, so down that he couldn’t get back up afterwards, and to ensure his death. If that was his father’s purpose, then Draco also felt the need to send back the congratulations, to arrange a standing ovation.    
  
Although he was well and breathing, he wished he was anything but. He already felt like he was worthless, like he had no real purpose—what was the bloody point in anything? No matter how much he tried, it seemed like every pathway would be a fluke and every attempt would be futile because, in the end, he would never find his true self.   
  
Draco ignored his father’s promise about contacting him soon, not even hearing him stand up and leave. Nothing around him existed anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. His father’s words were all that ran through his head. When the tears fell, he didn’t even feel them anymore.   
  
Aspiring to be something, he somehow ended up becoming nothing. After everything, he was still nothing but a lost soul in a world where everyone had starry dreams and purpose.   
  
Draco remained seated in the restaurant for a long time, hands shaking as sobs wracked through his frame, letting everything he thought he’d known about himself crash and burn around him.   
  
Everything hurt, his chest singing a gut-wrenching rendition of heartbreak as he seemingly lost feeling in all limbs.    
  
He was more lost now than ever before.  
  


* * *

  
‘ _ Who am I? _ ’   
  
Draco had pondered the same question for so long that those three words almost felt synonymous to home. It was the same question he could always go back to even after what he thought was months of progress. He’d always sought for answers, but he always ended up more confused than ever.   
  
Who was the real Draco Malfoy? What made him different from other people? If he were to be stripped off of the money, the responsibilities, the rebellious intent, the colourful hair, and the clothes, what was there left to make him, well, him?   
  
He didn’t know. That was the bloody problem. No matter what he did, he still wouldn’t know the answer.    
  
“Fuck,” he muttered, his head beginning to ache from all his cluttered thoughts. He swore he would give up all he’d ever known for someone to tell him who he was—but then, perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps he had relied too much on others to fill his own self-concept.   
  
Letting go of the bottle in his hand and clutching his aching head, he racked his brain to search for the past, and through the vodka-addled haze of his mind, he attempted to recall all the versions of himself he’d thought, at some point in his life, were the real him.   
  
With bitter regret, he remembered the politician’s son, the one who had it all—good values, good manners, good reputation, good social life and good marks. He’d served for his father’s purpose without question, but every time he’d been asked in school what his aspirations were, the politician’s son had never known the answer. All he’d known of his life was what others wanted for and needed from him.   
  
With a tender strum of longing in his heart, he remembered the curious boy he’d been right after he’d decided to leave, the one who had wanted to see everything, meet everyone, and go everywhere. It had been the first time he had a taste of true freedom, and it was wonderful, but the curious boy more-often-than-not had done things just to feel like he’d belonged.   
  
A tough lump of emotion stuck in his throat as he recalled the anti-Malfoy, the one he’d thought for so many months was the real him. Caught up with differentiating himself from the person his parents wanted him to be, the anti-Malfoy had only ended up becoming someone who was against the Malfoy family values and not the man he wished to be—the man who lived his life for himself.   
  
All throughout his life, he’d been nothing but subservient to those around him; he’d always ended up becoming a person best suited for the situation at hand, and he only now realized that that wasn’t making him happy, that living as the politician’s son, the curious boy, anti-Malfoy, and anything else that wasn’t really him only led to more confusion and deeper identity issues.   
  
But perhaps this was who he was meant to be. Perhaps the answer to his unending question was something he could never see because some deity in the clouds designed him to be a person filled with self-conflict and confusion forever.    
  
Should he just settle then? Should he live the rest of his life as someone not notable, not impactful, and not of any worth?   
  
He thought he had no other choice. Maybe he was really supposed to be the only lost star in the galaxy, the only one without an obvious purpose, will, and sense of self.   
  
But he couldn’t keep living like this! He wouldn’t be able to stand being eternally ignorant of his real self! Everybody else had a purpose, right? All he needed to do was find himself, try new and better things, meet new and better people that would help him in his journey, right? All he needed was more time, right?   
  
“Fuck!” he shouted, finally breaking down and throwing the half-empty vodka bottle into the nearest wall. The sound of the glass shattering was supposed to keep the emotions at bay, but it did anything but. His knees weakened, as though unable to hold the weight of his problems any longer, forcing him to kneel as frustrated tears streaked his face.    
  
Throwing his head back as he let the sobs out, he foolishly hoped that if he cried enough, his problems would go away on their own or that if he screamed loud enough, dark matter would appear from the sky and snatch him from the Earth, only to vanish in the complex fabric of time.   
  
He cried, and he did so alone and overwhelmed by the icy embrace of the night for a long time. It was like he could feel the walls of his bedroom shrink around him, the room getting smaller and smaller until he choked on his rapid breaths and collapsed in a pathetic heap under the weight of his palpitating heart.   
  
And just when he thought the darkness was finally about to suck the lingering light out of him, he felt arms wrap around his pitiful form and lift his head to let it rest on something comfortably familiar.    
  
“Draco,” called out the girl who at the moment felt like an angel to him. He let her warm hands spread heat throughout his cold sobbing body, entertaining the thought of her as the guardian angel who came down from paradise just to help him before telling himself not to romanticize someone as human as him. Hermione Granger wasn’t some perfect woman whose responsibility was to rescue him. If anything, they were both examples of lost souls, forever swirling around, perplexed and uncertain, in the complicated depths of life.    
  
Still, he gripped her hand as though it was his sole lifeline for, at the moment, that was what it felt like. He listened carefully to her mumbled apologies—for what, he didn’t know—and soothing assurances, and he took everything she said to heart. She felt like the most genuine concept in his life right now.   
  
“I’m here,” she whispered, her face so close to his that he almost interpreted the airy wisps of her breath as some sort of precious gift. “I’m here. Don’t worry. I’m sorry. I’m here—I promise that I’ll always be here.”   
  
She repeated the words until his breathing returned to normal, until he had no tears left to shed, and until his heart beat slowly and calmly for  _ her.  _ _  
_ _  
_ When it seemed like the emotions were out of his system, he sat up and released a heavy sigh, never letting go of her hand as he let his head fall on her shoulder. Hermione continued to hold him, and he’d never felt safer than in her arms, so he never let go of her either.   
  
“I’m sorry,” she breathed into his ear, and he pulled her closer when he heard her own unshed tears in the way she spoke. “I’m so sorry.”   
  
Draco shut his eyes and wished for the tender moment to last a hundred lifetimes. When he finally spoke, the words came out as rough, raw, and utterly  _ him  _ for once. “Don’t be.”   
  
They would talk of the complicated web that was their relationship soon, but not now. Now, he just wanted to be with her.   
  
Thankfully, she caught his meaning and decided to stall the inevitable conversation for now.    
  
“Tell me, what’s wrong?”   
  
‘ _ Everything, _ ’ he almost said, swallowing to take back the word from the tip of his tongue. He didn’t want to pretend everything was alright, didn’t want to blurt out a vague word like it would explain everything.    
  
When he told her of his qualms, he did it thoroughly, starting the story off with the reason why he’d left the Manor. She didn’t give much feedback, just a quick nod or two, as he babbled, but that was alright. The important thing was she listened. He told her about his family, about the servants and the guards, and his duties attached to the privilege. He told her about how he was so lost, how much he didn’t know about himself, and how much he craved individuality and freedom.    
  
The last tale he shared was the awful encounter with his father and how much his words broke him.   
  
“In the end, I think he’s right. I think everything I’ve been doing is still a facade—and I still don’t have the slightest clue on whom I really am,” he finished, his thumb tracing vague patterns on the back of Hermione’s hand.    
  
As he waited for a response, he silently appreciated the slow disappearance of the weight in his chest. Now, with his entire life story in the air, he felt truly free, and it just might be one of the best things he’d ever experienced—second only to touching, kissing, and being inside Hermione.   
  
“Do you know what I think?” she quietly asked, the words mirroring his father’s and causing him to tremble slightly. He was afraid of what she would say, if she would decide to turn this vulnerable moment as a perfect opportunity to tell him how utterly worthless she thought he was. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to take it coming from her, the most important person in his life at the moment besides himself, but he wanted to hear what she had to say anyway. “I think that you’ve been showing your real self these past few months, and you just don’t realize it.”   
  
“No,” he denied, spoken as a broken murmur. “I was just trying to get back at my parents, you see? That Draco wasn’t the real me, after all.”   
  
She shrugged his head off his shoulder and forced him to look her in the eye. There, in her gaze, he saw determination. “You might be doing shallow things to rebel against your parents, but those actions don’t define who you actually are—I know, because you showed me your true colours before, Draco. Trust me. I know who you are, and I think it’s time for you to accept that.”   
  
He was intrigued or desperate or both—he didn’t know anymore. “And who am I?”   
  
“You’re Draco Malfoy.” Hermione gave him the sweetest of smiles, a smile that felt like a secret or an inside joke—something that only the two of them could hold against the cruel world. It was kind of beautiful.  _ She  _ was so beautiful. “You’re my annoying flatmate who lives to infuriate me. You only do the dishes every other day because you believe we both deserve an off-day from chores. You love to wear my clothes because you feel pretty in them and because you love pissing me off. You go to raves and parties even though I know you secretly think they’re tiring because you want to spend time with your friends.”   
  
Draco frowned, not getting her point at first. “Where exactly are you—”   
  
She cut him off with a mild glare, her fingers intertwining with his in an affectionate warning. “I’m not done.”   
  
He couldn’t help the smile that escaped his lips at the feel of her palm so intimately joined with his. “Carry on then.”   
  
“You’re Draco Malfoy,” she repeated, sighing. To his surprise, the next words were spoken softly with a tinge of appreciation and the affection he’d always wanted from her. “You thought my birthday was worth celebrating even though we were far from friends back then. You punched two gits in the face for me when I didn’t care enough to be concerned with my own well-being. You barged into my room when I came home crying and asked me what was wrong even if you were so drunk that you couldn’t even walk straight.” He snorted at that, causing the barely-there smile on her face to widen. “You started a bloody book club just because you noticed I liked books. You introduced me to ice cream, for God’s sake! And instead of spending entire days with your friends, you decided to stay in the flat with me and infuriate me in ways I didn’t even know was possible.”   
  
“You love it,” he teased, already feeling much better at her words. The way she spoke made him feel much more important than he actually was. There was a hopeful undertone in her voice that told him she believed in him and would continue to believe in him until, hopefully, the end of time.   
  
She chuckled, softly nodding. “You got us a job, so we won’t have to spend the rest of our lives lazing around our flat. You introduced me to your friends and other people and made me feel like I could finally belong. You danced with me in the rain, tolerated my occasionally baseless theories about certain novels, and most importantly, you made me feel like a person worth spending time with, worth talking to, and worth—” she hesitated, her eyes darting away as she licked her lips in apprehension, but she made sure her eyes met his when she spoke again, “You make me feel like someone worth loving.”   
  
His breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he thought he lost the ability to speak, only able to utter important words, like her name for instance. “Hermione.”   
  
She shook her head, gripping his hands tighter. “I don’t want you to take my words as another person telling you what you are. I’m saying all of this because I don’t think you have to doubt yourself or contemplate who you are anymore. I think you’ve shown me exactly what you’re capable of, and at the very least, I can safely say that you’re a good person, Draco Malfoy.”   
  
“Hermione,” he repeated, soft tendrils of appreciation bursting out of his chest. She did not have any idea how much her words affected him. She did not have any idea how many empty spaces within him were filled, how many realizations were made, and how many doubts disappeared in a matter of minutes—just by her words.    
  
“And I think you shouldn’t really think about it too much,” she continued, reassurance in her tone and faith—in him, he assumed—in her eyes. “Think back to all those times we spent with each other. We weren’t thinking then—we were just being ourselves. No one had to tell us what to do or who we are. We just  _ were.  _ I don’t think it’s far-fetched for me to say that I spent those times with the real and unabashed  _ you. _ ”   
  
“Hermione.” He’d heard enough, and he wanted to do so much more than just talk. He knew what she meant now, and he completely understood. Draco finally figured out that who he was didn’t necessarily rely on other people’s expectations of him, and he realized Hermione was right. Perhaps one didn’t need to think about anything at all. Perhaps her words rang true, and he just needed to live his life the way it was. He didn’t need to be anything or anyone else. He was already, finally someone.   
  
Draco wanted to thank her for her sweet words. A gentle emotion continued to flutter in his chest, summoning little butterflies in his stomach and minuscule spouts of joy in his heart, and it made him want to do crazy things—like snog the living daylights out of Hermione, for example.   
  
But the bloody woman just wouldn’t stop running her mouth!   
  
“And when you showed me all those things and made me realize so much, I found out another thing about myself,” she kept on rambling. “After Christmas night, I woke up next to you, and I felt—I panicked and left and ignored you for days. And I’m sorry for not appreciating the breakfast and cups of tea you made for me. I’m sorry for acting like such a bitch. If I hurt you, I didn’t mean it, I swear. I just do these stupid things that I think can help make things better, but it doesn’t, and I end up being alone most of the time, but I don’t want that to happen again! I don’t want to be left alone anymore! I’m just—it’s just difficult for me to accept the fact that I—”   
  
He kissed her. He pressed his lips to hers to make sure she shut the hell up and let him snog her, and instead of sizzling fireworks, all he saw behind his eyelids were white clouds, pink skies and golden sunbeams. Kissing Granger was a different kind of heaven, a heaven he desperately wanted to stay in for the rest of his days.   
  
Just before he could stick his tongue out and get another taste of the said paradise on Hermione’s lips, she roughly pushed him away.    
  
He was about to ask her what was wrong, but the words turned into a jumbled mess in his throat as he allowed himself to get lost in her eyes. He didn’t know what it was, but he was certain something was lurking in her gaze—something unknown, something he thought he’d never seen before from her.    
  
Whatever it was, it made her brown eyes shine brighter than the winter sun. In fact, Draco felt as though he was truly staring deeply into the layered depths of her soul and catching a glimpse of the intricate colours she’d been trying to hide from everyone all this time. It only made her look even more beautiful to him. Also, he felt like he’d do anything to get a chance to know each and every emotion she was capable of making. He swore she’d look so pretty wearing such variety in her expressions.   
  
Hermione looked at him with strange blown pupils, telling the greatest tale with a single look, and smiled at him. Although the smile was uncertain and crooked, he still cherished it—cherished every telltale sign that showed him she was as human as he was. “I love you.”   
  
‘ _ What? _ ’   
  
Did Hermione Granger really just—   
  
“I love you,” she repeated, an emphasis on the L-word, the silliest grin breaking out of her face.   
  
Apparently, yes, she had.   
  
‘ _ She loves me. She loves me. She loves me. _ ’   
  
He wasn’t dreaming, was he? If this was a cruel bloody dream, he swore he’d kill the person who tried to wake him up. There was no way he was getting out of this fantasy.   
  
“I love you,” she said again—didn’t she realize that his heart was beating too bloody fast from her words? Didn’t she realize how panicked he was? How shocked he was? Didn’t she realize a guy like him needed to take at least a half-hour break to think about her confession before he could formulate a formal response? Didn’t she know how bloody human he was and how he was only capable of two extreme emotions a day?   
  
Hermione, he swore, was bent on killing him.   
  
‘ _ She loves me. She loves me. She loves me. _ ’   
  
He couldn’t believe it! Hermione fucking Granger just admitted to loving Draco Malfoy! What the fuck was going on?   
  
‘ _ She loves me. She loves me. She loves me. _ ’   
  
Elated panic spread across his body. He did not know what to do next. Should he kiss her again? He really wanted to kiss her again. Should he look at her with a confused expression and slowly walk out on her? No! If he left now, he didn’t know when he’d get another opportunity to kiss her again. Should he—   
  
He gasped, realizing Hermione was now fidgeting before him and trying to get away from his grasp, but he kept her still, holding on tightly and planning to never let go of her again. Without thinking, he blurted out, “What’s wrong?”   
  
She glared at him, an adorable shade of pink flushing on her cheeks. “I don’t know about you, but it’s kind of bloody awkward to watch you just gape at me right after I… told the truth about my feelings!”   
  
He let out a chuckle, inwardly sighing in relief. He’d thought for a moment the confession had just been a cruel joke. As he pondered over her words, he came up with an idea for the perfect reaction to her profession of feelings.    
  
He was going to say out loud how he felt about her, too. That would be the best response to ensure a kiss, right? And of course, if he finally accepted his feelings and told her about it, he’d get his happy ending, right?    
  
Draco took a deep breath to ready himself. He’d been aware of his feelings for her ever since Christmas night, but he’d never cared to put a label on it—not until he was certain Hermione felt it as well. Somehow, he had this notion that if he never called his feelings for her the proper term, maybe he would get to move on from them easily.   
  
But now, none of that mattered.   
  
Gathering the inner romantic in him, he rested his forehead on hers, shutting his eyes, and caressed the back of her hands with his thumbs.   
  
“Draco, I—”   
  
“I think I love you, too.” The admittance sounded a little more unsure than hers, but it only spoke volumes of his own hidden uncertainties, of his own doubts and insecurities. In time, he knew he’d be able to look at her and feel nothing but pure love running through his veins, and by then, he’d be used to the feeling—unlike now. Up until this very moment, he had no idea what romantic love felt like, but somehow, he was certain about one thing; he would, in due time, find out with Hermione.   
  
Only a short second passed before her lips touched his, another vision of heaven flashing before his closed eyes, and he had to wonder if this was the same love he’d read about in Hermione’s romance novels. The love that was different from all the others he’d felt before. The love that made him experience shooting stars instead of pyrotechnics, made him hear a chorus of angels instead of birds twittering and made his entire body spread a soothing pool of lava instead of igniting a wildfire inside him. Kissing Hermione made him regret being a sinner and wish he was a saint instead—a saint with no faults so that he’d be worthy of experiencing the tempting paradise she offered.   
  
He moaned when she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him harder and pulling him closer. He moved his hands to her thighs to pull her hips closer and to have her on his lap. Feeling her pert little tongue begging for entrance on his lips, he couldn’t help but let out another moan as he permitted her entry to his mouth, his own tongue exploring and getting a taste of her.   
  
Desperate to get his mouth on every inch of her skin, he latched on to her neck, nipping her flesh and revelling in the soft moans and adorable grunts she released. He ran his tongue down the length of her throat, sucking on the dip between her collarbones when her hand suddenly grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him back to her lips.    
  
They devoured each other, their stubborn mouths never letting the other win. Draco decided to put his hands to good use and palmed her breasts through the silk slip that she wore. The blissful breath that escaped her lips let him know she loved the feel of his hands brushing against the hardening peaks under her dress, jutting her hips forward against his crotch each time he squeezed her breasts.   
  
Feeling his pyjama bottoms tightening at the front, Draco broke away from their kiss to ask her a single question, “Can I—you know?” He squeezed her breasts again to avoid saying the words aloud. He was afraid she would regret whatever would happen between them again. Not wanting Hermione to leave again as soon as morning hit, he tried to actually ask for her explicit consent—instead of just getting caught up in their heated feelings again.   
  
She nodded, biting her lower lip before she pulled his hands away from her chest to shrug off the straps of her slip. He watched in amazement as she let the fabric fall on her hips, exposing the perky breasts that were begging for his attention. He thought he could never tire of seeing her bare skin, her stiff nipples, and those lovely supple mounds.   
  
Breathing out a sigh of relief, Draco didn’t wait a second longer before he captured one of her hardened nipples in his mouth. Circling the peak with his tongue, he slowly inhaled the sweet summery scent of her naked skin. He didn’t know how she, a person he knew was terrified of the ocean, managed to smell like the sandy shores of the beach next to the Malfoy summerhouse in France all the time.   
  
He savoured the two breasts presented in front of him, ensuring that his mouth and his hands were never empty and always full of her. She responded eagerly, her hand getting lost in his hair as she let out these sounds of approval that went straight to his cock, but impatience soon got the best of her, and she pulled his head away from her chest.   
  
Draco feasted on her lips instead, eager to swallow her tongue once more, and she pushed against his groin, sending a jolt of pleasure to his abdomen. He thrust back against her, and soon enough, he was sure they looked like two animals in heat as they grind against each other, only instinct and desperation as their driving force.   
  
When one of Hermione’s hands made its way under his pyjama bottoms to grasp his erection, he paused in their kiss and inhaled sharply. She put her lips to his neck as she freed his member, and he let out a gasp as the cool air from his slightly-opened window hit his heated skin.    
  
“This is about you,” she breathed into his neck, and he had to jump in surprise when her hand squeezed his cock. “Let me make it up to you, please.”   
  
Words got caught in his throat, and he only managed to screw his eyes shut and let out a soft grunt as her hand began moving up and down. She sucked on the skin of his neck one more time before she hopped off his lap and went on her knees, her mouth so close to his manhood that he could feel her hot breath on the tip, providing him with a new kind of pleasure.   
  
“Oh, fuck,” he moaned as he felt her taking him into her mouth. She gripped him at the base, proceeding to make small up-and-down motions with her fingers as her tongue made its way down. “Fuck, Hermione.”   
  
It took all of his willpower not to grab her by her hair and shove her head down until the tip of his dick hit her throat. He would let her do this on her own terms, this time. He’d let her do whatever the fuck she wanted to him. Hell, if she did that thing with her tongue again, he might even let her peg him.   
  
“Shit, what—” He released a groan when she started to bob her head up and down his pulsing member, her lips sucking on his flesh most blissfully. She swirled her tongue around the length of him, taking him to sinful places he’d never known existed. “Oh, fuck!”   
  
He wouldn’t even be able to say that he lasted long, if the tightening in his balls was any indication. When he felt her tongue flick at his slit, he surrendered to bone-shattering desire and came inside her mouth, not before warning her of his impending orgasm. He’d thought she would pull away, but she didn’t, and he had to watch in awe as she swallowed his release.   
  
When Hermione sat back up again, his muscles were already weakened, and he felt exhaustion creeping up on his bones from the extremely long day he just realized he had. She looked at him with adoring eyes, flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and breasts still bared for his feasting eyes—a delicious smirk pulling at her lips as he failed to recover.   
  
Had Draco already mentioned how beautiful he thought she was?   
  
“You didn’t last very long,” she pointed out, a teasing glint dancing about her eyes as she pulled up her slip to cover up her chest again.   
  
Although he felt an actual pout coming onto his mouth at her words and action, Draco did not have enough time to acknowledge his minuscule distress, for his eyelids began to weigh heavier than before, and the need to lie down and sleep forever began to overtake his body. “You have a wicked tongue.”   
  
She laughed, cheeks reddening even more, and she looked so bloody gorgeous that he just had to lean in and kiss her.   
  
When his lips met hers again, a calming sensation washed over him. With the way she pressed deeper into his mouth, she let him know that she would still be there in the morning, that she wouldn’t leave again. Still, he felt the need to beg her to stay.    
  
Gently pulling away, he held her face in his hands and pleaded with the soft vulnerability he knew passed over his eyes. “Don’t leave me.”   
  
Her expression softened, and for a short moment, he thought he saw tears form in the corners of her eyes before she blinked them away. “Never again.”   
  
He pulled her in for another kiss—a kiss that also spoke of his own promise to her, his promise never to abandon her as well, his promise to stay regardless of breakdowns, identity issues, and emotional incapabilities.   
  
If he wasn’t so tired, so burnt out from all the emotions he’d gone through just in a single day, he would carry her to this bed and properly thank her for everything she’d done for him, but he went through a lot, and for now, he just wanted to rest. With Hermione by his side, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such an emotional chapter! Did you guys enjoy the intense emotions Draco went through? What do you guys think will happen next chapter? Sound off below in the comments! Again, my thanks to highlyintelligentblonde for her alpha and beta work!


	6. The Sweet Life

* * *

When Draco woke up in the dark hours of early morning, feeling rejuvenated and refreshed, the last thing he’d expected to see was the empty space, void of Hermione’s figure, next to him. At first, he panicked and jolted into a sitting position, thinking that she had left him again, but he saw her shadowy figure on the foot of his bed, the covers wrapped around her frame. He saw her shoulders shake repeatedly as muffled sobs finally reached his ears, accompanied by soft wails.  
  
Suddenly, it became clear to him that Hermione was crying. Blinking a few times, he let the realization sink in slowly.  
  
‘ _But why?_ ’ he asked himself, his throat burning and his heart pounding. It was disconcerting to realize that the first thing his girlfriend—they _were_ dating now, right?—did after an honest talk and agonizingly slow lovemaking was shed her tears in the secretive darkness of the night. He thought they were alright now. They’d confessed their feelings, and everything should be alright now—or at least that was what he thought.  
  
From what he’d seen, Hermione wasn’t the type to cry often or the type to cry over the simplest things. And if he didn’t know any better, he would say she seemed more like a person who thought shedding tears was a sign of weakness than a person who would overthink and cry about big romantic gestures and love confessions, but he did know better. While Hermione wasn’t the most intelligent person when it came to emotions, he was pretty sure she would never reprimand or shame someone for finding the courage to pour their eyes out.  
  
Maybe he was too full of himself. Maybe it wasn’t about him or their relationship. She had her own issues too, after all—some he knew she would never share to him—and maybe she was also beginning to cave under the pressure of her dark secrets and veiled emotional predicament.  
  
Apprehensively, he crawled over to her, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder. She jumped at his touch but soon hid her face from his view, seemingly ashamed of her emotions. Releasing a small sigh, he turned her around to face him and took her sobbing figure into his arms.  
  
Based on his previous experiences, he concluded that hugs almost always made a difference, and he felt like it was the best thing he could do for her at the moment.  
  
She clutched his shoulders, burying her tears-streaked face in his chest. Resisting the urge to wince once he felt her tears and snot soaking through his shirt, it took all of his willpower not to pull away and just continue to provide her warmth and comfort through his embrace. He kissed the top of her head and offered consoling words, hoping his voice would be enough to ease the pain in her heart.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” she continuously sobbed into his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be,” he whispered just as many times as she apologized. He shushed her incoherent apologies, nuzzling his nose into her hair. As far as he knew, there was nothing she needed to apologize for, and if there was something terrible she’d done without his knowledge, he’d rather not discuss it during a time when their relationship was fragile and could easily be torn apart again by both internal and external forces. “Don’t be sorry.”  
  
“No.” She shook her head and looked up at him, her eyes flooded with tears of guilt. “I was so terrible to you for the past few days. I ignored you when I shouldn’t have. You did these nice things for me, and I just treated you like you were nothing.”  
  
Although Draco was not quite as familiar with guilt as he was with self-conflict and confusion, he did recognize the fact that guilt truly put so much pressure on a person’s shoulders, often causing them to eventually break down—that was what he’d seen and observed from others, at least; it wasn’t like he had a long list of terrible things he’d done to constantly activate feelings of guilt in his brain. The things he felt guilty of were often things he caused to happen to himself and the shit he put himself through. Then again, guilt was so complex that he sometimes mistook it for regret.  
  
But he had an inkling that guilt was the catalyst to Hermione’s emotional breakdown at the moment. She must feel bad for ignoring him, and even though a small part of him appreciated her apologies and revelled in her tears—because she _had_ hurt him—he just wished the both of them could move past their less-than-favourable mistakes.  
  
“That’s all over now.” Draco tried to smile. Frankly, he wanted all the emotional breakdowns to be over now, and even though it had hurt when she’d refused to acknowledge his very existence for the past couple of days, he truly wanted to move on from it. But he also couldn’t just demand she stopped sobbing. He knew that letting the emotions out once in a while did wonderful things to the soul. “It’s alright. You’re here now.”  
  
“No,” she kept saying, her tone persistent with the tiniest hint of self-loathing “I shouldn’t have left you. I should’ve stayed.”  
  
“You’re right,” he reluctantly gave in, caressing her arms, “but it’s honestly okay now. I’m just glad you’re here with me.”  
  
Her sobs quietened down at his words until they turned into soft hiccups. She didn’t reply for a while, presumably letting his reassurance drape over her mind and calm herself. For some reason, Draco’s heart began to quicken as the silence continued. He became aware of their intimate embrace, of their arms wrapped around each other, and for another unknown reason, knowing this made him nervous—like he was a prepubescent boy realizing a girl liked him back for the first time.  
  
The feeling made him want to hug her tighter, to cherish the moment even more, and to love the gentle whistles of the snowy wisps outside his window that served as the only audible thing in the room at the moment. He didn’t know why, but every passing beat of stillness and silence beside Hermione felt like a life-changing moment, like something he wanted to instil in his memory and look back to when he was a mere breath away from death in the future.  
  
Eventually, Hermione broke through the silence, and no matter how much he’d claim to miss the precious silence, he cherished her voice and her words more.  
  
“Ever since I moved out, everything that has happened to me turns into a harsh lesson.” She slowly inhaled, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. She examined his face for a quick moment, biting her lower lip before she spoke again. “Can I tell you something?”  
  
Without a moment of hesitation, Draco nodded. He was willing to hear whatever she had to say.  
  
“I’m not a good person,” she confessed, sounding close to tears once again. Her eyes watered, her lips quivered, and her voice trembled—and at this, his heart cracked. As beautiful as she looked whilst shedding tears, he never wanted to see her in pain ever again. “I’m not like you.”  
  
He frowned, confused, resisting the urge to kiss her tears away. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Do you know why I’m even here?”  
  
It was a question that burned at the back of his mind ever since he first saw her, tables away from him in a café. He’d obsessed over the question many times, but he’d long since forgotten the importance of its answer, and at this point in his life, he didn’t care for it anymore. He’d learned his lesson, after all. There was no reason to dwell in the past. But of course, Hermione needed this. His story was already over and done with; hers hadn’t even been told. “No.”  
  
She had to intake another long breath. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that I didn’t have many friends before you, that I was always alone. Even back in Hogwarts, I wasn’t part of any social groups or cliques, unlike you. That wasn’t by choice.” A forced smile appeared on her lips, never reaching her eyes. The obvious pretence made him want to wipe it away and replace it with a sincere one, but he refrained from interrupting her story, wanting to just let her lay it all down in front of him before he reacted. “All my life, other people have chosen to stay away from me because of, well, me. I’ve been told I was arrogant, entitled, spoilt, and a bloody know-it-all—and they were all right. No one wants to be friends with a person who constantly judges you for your status and intelligence.”  
  
His frown deepened, confusion parading around his head and creating havoc out of everything he’d ever known about Hermione Granger. He’d always thought she was this perfect picture of an upper-class woman who had never done anything wrong in her life. Although he had noticed her lack of peers during their Hogwarts years and up to this day, he’d always thought it was because everyone else was intimidated by her and her net worth.  
  
Now, it felt like he had never truly met her, but still, regardless of his stupefaction, he knew that wasn’t the case at all. He’d got to know the real her, just as she did him. Not to mention, he had practically immortalized every emotion she’d expressed in his brain, and he knew that the person showing those tantalizing smiles and adorable scowls was none other than Hermione Granger. She was real, and he knew her—he even considered her to be the most important person in his life.  
  
“I was—I _am_ a terrible person, and when I realized that, it was already too late,” she continued, lost in thought. “I was already in the first year of uni, and no one still wanted to even be near me. One day, I realized that my upbringing wasn’t really helping me make friends or interact with other people, so I decided to just move out. I decided not to use my parents’ money anymore. I moved into this flat months before you did, and since I realized that my personality is, frankly, shit, I decided not to show any emotion at all, thinking that it’s better than scaring people away by showing my true self, I guess. And I did it all just to have a friend or two and be considered as a good person.”  
  
Hermione chuckled, thinking of her past self as some sort of sentimental fool who craved unnecessary human connection, but Draco didn’t find it one bit humorous. If he’d thought previously that guilt consumed a person, loneliness, on the other hand, was more comparable to a parasite, slowly eating a person alive from the inside out until they succumbed to utter darkness.  
  
He understood now. Hermione must have been so desperate for ‘a friend or two’ that she was willing to let herself waste away and turn into an adaptable robot that could change, depending on what other people wanted from her, at a moment’s notice, but it resulted in the complete opposite direction. With her apathetic mask, he was certain other people found it even harder to connect with her, causing her to even be lonelier than she’d already been.  
  
Emotions formed as a lump in his throat, forcing him to swallow down and suppress his heartache mixed with anger. The consuming kind of protectiveness surged through his chest, and it made him want to shield Hermione from everyone and everything who would dare to hurt her. It made him want to destroy the lives of those who ignored her and made her feel like she wasn’t worthy of attention and love when she did. She deserved affection, friendships, and so much more.  
  
That didn’t matter now. She wasn’t alone now, and if he had his way, she would never be alone again. It was his sole responsibility to dote on her and make her feel wanted now. _She would never be alone again._ “You have me now. Things won’t be the same as before. I swear to you that you will never feel lonely again—not when I’m with you.”  
  
Her eyes softened, affection swirling around her pupils. God, she was so precious. Why couldn’t everyone else see how lovely and loveable she was? “I know that now, and I’m so grateful, Draco. I am so glad that you’re here with me. I love you.” He couldn’t help it. She looked too bloody delicate for him not to kiss her. She looked too painstakingly beautiful for him not to lean in until their lips touch in the gentlest of kisses. He felt her mouth press deeper against him before she pushed him away, tears forming in her eyes once more. He couldn’t ask her what was wrong, not when she chose to speak before his mouth could even open. “But I don’t think I deserve you.”  
  
And then, as silent as the night, Hermione’s tears cascaded down her cheeks again. Through the dim light of the rising sun, he saw her tears shine, her cheeks flush with emotion, and her hands clasp together in a non-verbal plea—making for the most heartbreaking image he’d ever witnessed.  
  
He didn’t want to see her cry ever again.  
  
Draco quickly pulled her down to his chest again. This time, he held her even tighter, so that she would never escape his hold. He didn’t want to see her hurting ever again, and he hoped that his warm embrace would be enough to keep all the pain away.  
  
He tried not to think about her last words, but they overtook his brain anyway. Her words left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hated that she thought she wasn’t good enough for him, that she didn’t deserve him. It simply wasn’t true, and if it was, who the fuck cared? Who the fuck even thought of who deserved who or not? If anything, he was the one who didn’t deserve her after all the personal bullshit he put her through.  
  
But she didn’t think the same, and it was beginning to frustrate him.  
  
“You, you’re a good person to the core, Draco,” she tried to reason, but his mind was already made up. “You did so many good things for me, and how did I repay you? I ignored you for days after Christmas night! I’m just—I’m so sorry. It’s still just a bloody struggle for me to be a genuinely good person. To be honest, I don’t know what to do most of the time, and I end up doing nothing at all because I have no idea what makes me a better person than I am, but you—” She shook her head in his chest, and he felt the stream of tears through his shirt. “You are a good person without trying, and because of that, you deserve so much bet—”  
  
“No!” he growled, finally having heard enough. “It’s not about who deserves who, Granger! I don’t bloody care if I deserve better! For the first time in my life, I actually want to get into a relationship with someone solely because I have genuine feelings for her, and I am not letting you ruin this before it even starts!”  
  
At the irritated glare she sent him, he paused, waiting for what she had to say. “Well, for the first time in _my_ life, I’m trying to express myself, and you just had to make it all about you!”  
  
“Okay, I apologize for that, but I’m not apologizing for telling you that you’re stupid for mulling over what I deserve!” Draco shot back, secretly glad that he’d caused the tears to halt at the very least. “Don’t you think I get a say in the matter? I think I know what I deserve, Granger, and I’m pretty sure that it’s you. Don’t tell me I deserve better—I don’t deserve better because there’s simply nothing or no one else better for me than you.”  
  
He watched as her glare softened, replaced by another bucket of tears. Sighing as she buried her face into his chest once more, he absently toyed with her curls. She had told him a few weeks ago that she’d decided to grow her hair out, and for a sweet moment, a picture of Hermione with waist-length curls kneeling between his legs ran through his mind before he shook the inappropriate thought out. He could only hope that she knew just how beautiful he thought she was, regardless of whatever she looked like.  
  
“Hermione,” he softly called out. The syllables of her name on his tongue felt so right, for some reason. When she looked up at him with her glistening eyes and trembling lips, he couldn’t help but place a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I understand your insecurities, I do. I know that you think that you’re not trying hard enough to become a good person, and I know that you’re haunted by some mistakes you made in the past. I get it. We all have things that we regret. And I don’t know if this will help you feel better, but I want to say that the person you think you are—the person who you say is arrogant, entitled, and all that crazy stuff—I don’t think… No, I _know_ for a fact that’s not who you are anymore.”  
  
“Really?” she asked, childlike hope glimmering in her eyes.  
  
“Yes.” He nodded, clutching her tighter. “I’m not an expert on the matter, but I think that simply recognizing your bad attitude and attempting to change for the better is enough to classify you as a good person, Hermione.”  
  
“I—”  
  
“Wait.” A sudden realization struck him in the chest, causing his gaze to turn into steel and his arms to wrap more protectively around her frame. “Do you remember when that perverted old man was all over you in the loo?” She nodded, a frown overtaking her pretty face. “And that time Nott hit you?” Another nod from her, this time accompanied by a warning glare. “Did you let both of those things happen because you thought fighting back wouldn’t make you a good person?”  
  
“I didn’t ask to be cornered or hit, Malfoy! And Theo didn’t even hit me that hard!”  
  
“I know, but did you think at the time that you deserved those things? Because you thought that you were a terrible person?”  
  
She chewed on her lower lip and looked at him with sad, guilty eyes that told him all he needed to know. He pushed her hair away from her face, softly touching her cheek. “Being a good person doesn’t mean you have to let everybody walk all over you, Hermione.”  
  
“I know that now.” She smiled softly at him, nuzzling his palm. “You showed me that I’m worth fighting for, and ever since that night with Nott, I swore to myself that I will never risk my safety and well-being again for the fear of being seen as a bad person. Another thing I have to thank you for, I guess.”  
  
They sat there and smiled at each other for a long time, and he waited until the sky turned orange and the sun sat on its rightful throne up in the morning clouds before he spoke again through a quiet tone. “Are you okay now?”  
  
She nodded slowly, eyes brightening up as a small smile spread across her face. “I think so. It felt so good to let it all out, and it felt so good to have someone listen and reassure me for once.” He saw her chance a glance at his lips before quickly meeting his eyes again. “Thank you, Draco.”  
  
“Please don’t ever think I deserve better than you again,” he begged, his eyes also fixated on her lips. “I don’t care who we deserve. I just want to be with you.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I do.” He nodded absent-mindedly before leaning in to place a soft peck on her lips. “I really, really want to be with you.”  
  
“Me too.” She kissed him this time, harder and needier. “Be mine?”  
  
“I already am,” he declared before diving in again for a more long-lasting kiss.  
  


* * *

  
The first time Draco realized that he was irrevocably and undoubtedly in love with Hermione Granger was when she pulled at his hair, moaning his name and calling out for God, whilst he feasted on the heated flesh between her thighs, his hands gripping her hips as he stuck his tongue out over and over to get a taste of her essence. She was the only person he’d let yank his hair like so, and he only let her because, fuck, was she the sweetest little thing he’d ever tasted.  
  
As he sucked on her clit, he tried to rack his brain for the fruit he knew taste tasted exactly like her before settling for the flavour of tangerines. He ran his tongue over her dripping slit once again to double-check, earning him a helpless yelp and a flood of her delectable juices from her, and decided he was right in his assessment; Hermione Granger’s pussy tasted like tangerines.  
  
When her thighs clamped around his head and he felt her stiffen above him, an automatic smirk slipped into his lips. She let out a drawn-out moan that barely resembled his name as her walls tightened around the tongue he used to fuck her with. He let her hips move and her hands pull his hair while she rode out her orgasm, only pulling his tongue out from inside her to place chaste kisses on her quivering quim. He let her juices splash across his face, shivering in utter pleasure as he breathed in her raw musky scent.  
  
When it was over, he kissed her clit one last time and noted amusedly as he felt her thighs shake around his head. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, removing her weak hand from his hair and letting their fingers intertwine. He looked down at her, chuckling softly at her closed eyes and open mouth.  
  
Half-way on his way down to kiss those plump lips, Draco stopped abruptly, realizing she might not like his mouth on hers after what he’d just done, so he grabbed his shirt from the foot of his bed and used it to wipe away the remains of her come on his face before leaning down again, his lips grazing her ear. “Can I kiss you?”  
  
She moaned at the sound of his voice and nodded lazily. “Yes, please.”  
  
And so, he put his lips on hers, getting all his pleasure from the way her mouth sinfully moved against his. He only stopped when he realized she’d dozed off beneath him.  
  
He lay down beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling the covers on top of them before pulling her closer. He gazed at her sleeping face for a short while, letting his eyes linger on her most adorable features.  
  
“I love you, Hermione Granger,” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off of her beautiful face. “I know that for certain now.”  
  
With a last kiss on her forehead, he succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep as well, more content than he’d ever been.  
  


* * *

  
New Year’s Eve with Hermione Granger was a very serious affair. She’d prepared at least seven meals for only the two of them to consume, she’d forced him to list down his New Year’s resolutions—at least one for every month of the next year—and she’d demanded that he kiss her right before midnight struck, so she could view the fireworks right as they shot up into the sky. Draco didn’t know why she was so invested on having the best New Year’s Eve, but frankly, he didn’t mind it, so long as it made her happy.  
  
“Come on, Draco!” she whined from the couch. “We need to take a picture right before you give me my midnight kiss.”  
  
Oh, had he forgotten about the dozens of photos they needed to pose for before midnight? Hermione had justified it by saying that the images would be a nice remembrance of the very first holiday they’d ever celebrated as a real couple.  
  
“Sure, Granger.” He chuckled, striding towards her in the slowest pace he could muster just to infuriate her.  
  
She turned back to him with a withering glare, positively melting his heart with one look. “Hurry!”  
  
He let out another laugh as he made his way to take a seat beside her on the couch and faced the camera he hadn’t known she owned. Once he was seated comfortably next to her, he took his time in letting his eyes travel over her form.  
  
She’d made sure that the both of them dressed up for this occasion, forcing him to drape himself in an old suit he was planning to give away as part of his New Year’s resolutions. For old times’ sake, she’d insisted, and he’d only gone along with her plan because she’d used a very convincing technique against him that may or may not have involved her mouth on a certain anatomy of his.  
  
Wearing a tiny gold frock that barely grazed her knees might just be one of her best ideas yet, and he loved that he could see so much of her bare skin even as she wore a moderately-modest halter-neck. She’d chosen to style her hair into a low bun, and he so badly wished it was his fingertips grazing the side of her face instead of a few loose curls.  
  
He subtly licked his lower lip, appraising her overall appearance once more. Concluding that she looked bloody gorgeous as she always did, his hand reached out to grab hers, but—  
  
That was when he caught a glimpse of horrific orange fur on her lap. He scowled as the infernal cat hissed at him, resisting the childish urge to hiss back.  
  
“What the hell is your cat doing here?” he blurted out, crossing his arms above his chest in an admittedly petulant manner.  
  
Hermione glanced at him with a frown, pursing her lips. “I want him to be in the pictures. Is that a problem?”  
  
The cat he swore was the devil in disguise settled comfortably in Hermione’s lap, seemingly glaring at him with pure evil intent before letting out infuriating purrs as his owner’s hand stroked his fur. Draco looked back to Hermione’s face and forced a saccharine smile. “Nope. No problem at all.”  
  
She nodded and placed the resting cat on his lap, causing him to jump in surprise. Before he could ask her what she was up to, Hermione rose to her feet and tampered with the camera, later explaining to him that she had put a five-second timer as an interval between photos.  
  
They proceeded to pose and smile and preen for the camera. In one of the taken pictures, he was caught trying to forcibly remove the cat from his person, resulting in another “ _Crookshanks has feelings too, Malfoy!_ ” lecture from Hermione.  
  
After he was forced to apologize to the demonic creature—that cat had clawed through too much of his stuff for Draco to be convinced otherwise—Hermione thankfully grabbed Crookshanks from him and took the hellish monster back to her bedroom.  
  
When she came out of her room, Draco smiled at her—a smile he reserved for only her, a smile that wordlessly spoke of his undying affections for her. “It’s almost midnight.”  
  
She grinned back, slowly approaching him. “And?”  
  
“Your midnight kiss, I believe?” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and relishing in the heat of her hands through his jacket as they landed on his biceps.  
  
Draco took her chin in his hand and stared deeply into her gleaming brown eyes, watching as her lids fluttered shut and her lips puckered most temptingly. He released a sigh of contentment before shutting his own eyes, gradually leaning down until their lips met. The kiss was nothing but a light grazing of two mouths, but it was still as magical as ever, as sweet as ever, and as heavenly as ever.  
  
God, he wouldn’t trade this for the world.  
  
It wasn’t long before they heard the first firework go off. When an endless series of explosive sounds followed after the first one, Hermione broke away and hurriedly rushed to his bedroom to watch from his window.  
  
He followed shortly after, the smile never fading from his lips, and stopped right next to her, watching as she beamed at the fireworks.  
  
“Isn’t it beautiful, Draco?”  
  
He kept his eyes on her face. The colours of the nearby pyrotechnics reflected on her wide eyes. Her smile never waned, and for a moment, he thought it was brighter than the faux shooting stars people let loose in the sky. He had to agree; the view was beautiful. _She_ was beautiful.  
  
Tender emotions blossomed in his chest as he continued to watch her fascinating reactions. When she let out a pleased squeal, he couldn’t help but press his lips to her cheek and wrap his arms around her. Satisfaction of a unique kind, one he’d never felt before, settled across his body when her hands rested on his forearms, making him feel more whole than he’d ever thought was possible.  
  
Draco rested his chin on the top of her head and began to watch the fireworks with her.  
  
As he watched them shoot up in the sky, he noticed how they seemed to find their freedom up there with the moon, and he had to wonder if they could ever come close to the freeing feeling that washed over him every time he was with Hermione.  
  
But he shortly came into the conclusion that nothing could ever come close to what he felt with Hermione—not even the things he’d thought he needed and wanted.  
  
Draco found that he was looking forward to the rest of the new year and the rest of his new life. He simply couldn’t wait for what was about to come, but at the same time, he almost had a hard time believing that leaving the Manor led to such refreshing paths, to such rewarding journeys, and to her—to Hermione Granger herself, the only person he’d ever thought to be the love of his life.  
  
He couldn’t believe it, but there were no doubts about the authenticity of this moment, of the fireworks blazing across the sky, of her in his arms.  
  
This was _it._  
  
This was what he was hoping for all along, and he hadn’t even realized it until now!  
  
This was the sweet life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was written for the Seasons Fest! I've chosen the summer prompt: “After a life of following orders, Draco rebels post-graduation. Where does he go, what does he do, and why does Hermione always seem to be nearby?”
> 
> That's the story! I wanna say my thanks to TheMourningMadam for hosting such a wonderful fest! And a huge thank you to [highlyintelligentblonde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highlyintelligentblonde) for taking the time to beta and alpha this silly little fic of mine! Hope you guys enjoyed this!
> 
> Paalam! :)


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